


Twisted Fate

by Emospritelet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angry Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Awkward Boners, Bathing/Washing, Conversations, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hair Washing, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Miscommunication, Morning Wood, Mutual Pining, Post-Break Up, Reconciliation, Smut, Therapy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Fingering, fighting then fucking, kind of, so it'll take them ages to sort it out, they both love each other but at least one of them is an utter fool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2020-08-23 18:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 74,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20247073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: Seven months after a bitter break-up, Mr Gold receives a telephone call that will turn his world upside down. Belle is pregnant, scared and hostile, and he knows it's all his fault. The prospect of a good relationship with the mother of his child seems hopeless, but he's determined to try. Remix of Dark Heart. Winner of Best Remix and Best Angst: Hurts so Good in The Espenson Awards 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dark Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14145969) by [Emospritelet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet). 

> A while ago, @prissyhalliwell sent me a prompt for a Dark Heart AU where Belle actually got the words out to tell Gold she was pregnant. It's obviously been floating around in my brain all this time because - uh - here...
> 
> This deviates from chapter 25 of the original fic, and is how their lives would have gone if Belle had managed to speak to him then. Happy ending, obviously, but that doesn't mean I won't put them through the wringer first

Storybrooke in March was gloomy and cold, the sky iron-grey and oppressive with snow giving way to sleet and drizzle, and the sidewalks just icy enough to be treacherous underfoot. It meant that few people ventured out unless they were working, or grocery-shopping. It also meant that no one was likely to come to the pawn shop unless they were particularly punctual with rent payments. That suited Alexander Gold just fine; he wasn’t in the mood for company. It was unlikely that he ever would be. And so he spent his days holed up in the back room of the shop, cleaning and restoring antiques with meticulous care. Anything to keep his mind from present pain and past regrets.

The heavy ticking of clocks was drifting through from the shop as he sat there, hunched over his workbench like a hideous imp concocting an evil spell. The silver music box sitting on a square of chamois leather was a new acquisition, bought as a job lot in an estate sale and pulled from the bottom of a box of mismatched crockery, the newspaper around it showing a date of forty-odd years ago. It must have lain unwanted and unloved for decades, awaiting the attention of one who could see its value. He pressed a gentle fingertip against the dusky pink velvet inside, stroking softly. It was tarnished and broken, but he could see the beauty there, waiting to be revealed with time and tender touches. Once cleaned up and cared for, it would be a breathtaking piece.

He straightened up, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it up before using his sleeve garters to push the black silk shirt further up his wrists and out of the way. The leather apron hanging by the bench went on next, hands tying it behind as he studied the music box, mentally running through his plan for the restoration. The buzz of the phone in his pocket made him frown, and he stepped back on one foot and fished it out, brows lowering at an unfamiliar number.

“Hello?” he said.

Silence.

“Hello?” he repeated, more tersely.

Nothing. Gold’s frown deepened, and he checked the number. No one he knew. He opened his mouth to speak again, and there was a click as the line cut out, making him shrug. Probably one of those stupid robot calls trying to sell him legal services. He slipped the phone back into his pocket, sitting back down and gently pulling the music box towards him.

He barely noticed the day passing, caught up in the delicate nature of his task, long steel tweezers gently prising apart the workings to remove a broken screw and a damaged cog that had been preventing the mechanism from turning. He smiled to himself as the cog came loose, lifting it gently aside and laying it on the chamois. Looking it over with an eyeglass, he could see where three of the teeth bent inwards, and where one had broken off completely. It would take time and patience to fix, and his smile widened. This was turning into exactly the sort of project he had hoped for.

By six p.m. it was already dusk, and Gold locked up his shop, walking to his car with his usual steady, limping stride. The wind was trying to get through his overcoat, and he shivered a little, pushing his chin down into his collar. The cold seeped into his leg, too, the old injury to his ankle causing him enough agony to steal his rest and sap his strength and patience. He supposed it was a reminder of what little humanity he had left, a painful shard of reality cutting through the numbing cloak of bitterness he wrapped around himself. At least he hadn’t completely forgotten how to feel.

His phone buzzed again, making him roll his eyes, but he tugged at the fingers of his leather glove with his teeth, stuffing the glove in his pocket and retrieving the phone before swiping the screen to answer it.

“Hello?” he said.

Silence. Gold frowned, glancing at the screen as he reached the Cadillac. An unfamiliar number, and one which he thought had called earlier that day.

“Hello?” he said impatiently. “Is someone there?”

Nothing but a doleful click as the caller hung up. He growled under his breath, shoving the phone back in his pocket and wrenching at the car door. Either a telemarketer or some local kids deciding it would be fun to prank him. Either way, he wasn’t in the mood. He drove home, the relative calm he had experienced in his shop evaporating and leaving him as hollow and cold as he had been when he woke up that morning.

He passed the florist’s shop on the way, the usual buckets of bright blooms locked inside, the lights off and the shutters down. Moe French never stayed open past five-thirty. Not since Belle had left town. His jaw clenched as a memory of her pushed its way into his mind. Beautiful blue eyes smiling up at him, dark hair spread out on his pillows. Soft red lips begging to be kissed. The memory changed, her sweet, inviting smile turning into something flat and emotionless, her eyes as cold and hard as a frozen lake as she mouthed the words that came to him over and over as he lay sleepless in the dark of night. _ You’re a disappointment. And I wish I’d never met you. _

He squeezed his eyes shut, snapping them open again as he remembered he was supposed to be keeping an eye on the road. The sky was almost fully dark now, Rain had begun to fall, the front end of a storm blowing up from the south. He wondered if it had passed through Boston. If it had passed over Belle.

The rain was just turning to sleet as he pulled into his driveway, and he made his way carefully up the steps and into the house, breathing a sigh of relief as the warmth rolled over him. The house was silent but for the ticking of clocks, and he took off his coat and hurried to the lounge to put on some music. It was strange how the house was too quiet now. Once he would have revelled in the fact that he would be alone and undisturbed, able to concentrate on a good book and an excellent glass of wine and be assured of no visitors to disturb his peace. When had that changed? When had solitude become loneliness?

Realising that he knew the answer to that question, right down to the hour, he decided to distract himself with a glass of wine and the preparation of dinner. After inspecting the contents of his fridge and discounting a number of ideas, he took some mushrooms, along with a carton of cream, and began peeling some garlic. The buzzing of his phone made him sigh, and he dropped the garlic cloves and wiped his fingers on his apron before pulling the phone from his pocket. His eyes narrowed at the number on the screen.

“Hello?”

Yet again, there was silence. Gold was losing patience.

“Hello?” he snapped.

More silence, and he sighed in frustration.

“Look, who is this?” he demanded. “Might I say that this silent treatment is _ extremely _ tedious? Any stalker worth their salt would at least try some fucking heavy breathing, or something.”

There was a whisper of sound then, a noise so small and brief he wasn’t sure he had heard it. A muffled noise, as though someone had put a hand over their own mouth. He licked his lips, his heart thumping as something that was equal parts hope and terror flared inside him.

_ “Belle?” _

He breathed her name, barely audible as it ghosted from his lips, not believing she would answer. There had been all too many dreams in which she had returned, after all. Too many nights when he had rewritten their last meeting in his head, when he had not pushed her away like the coward he was, when he had not broken her heart along with his own.

There was no further sound on the end of the line, and his eyes closed, bitter disappointment flooding through him. _ Of course it isn’t her. Why would it be her? You wanted her to leave and not return, and you were as vicious as you could be in order to make that happen. What the fuck did you expect? _

He opened his eyes, swallowing down a brief, tearing spike of pain and letting cold flood through him once more, numbing him from within. It was probably just kids messing around. The sound of a breath catching, as though the caller was trying not to laugh, made his eyes narrow.

“I’ve made a note of the number that comes up on my phone,” he said coldly. “I don’t know why the hell you’re calling me, but—”

“I had to!”

Her voice, high and frightened, made his mouth fall open.

“Belle?” he whispered. A sob burst from her and was quickly stifled. “Belle, is that you?”

_ “Yes!” _

The word was tiny, squeaked out and cut off, as though she was afraid of him. Afraid of his reaction. He licked his lips, his heart racing.

“Are you - are you in trouble?”

She laughed at that, but there was no mirth in the sound, only a high-pitched sort of desperation.

“I guess that’s one way of putting it,” she said, her voice wobbling. “God, I don’t even know why I’m calling you. It’s not like you care, you made that _ very _clear!”

“Then why _ are _ you calling?” he asked, trying for coldness again. “I was pretty sure we’d said everything there was to say.”

“God, you’re such a _ bastard_!” she wept. “Why did this have to happen to me? Why did it happen with _ you_?”

“Why did _ what _happen?” he snapped.

“I’m _ pregnant_!” she shouted.

It was as though someone had punched him. For a moment he couldn’t breathe, his heart a heavy, solid ball of pain in the middle of his chest.

“What?” he whispered, and she began crying again.

“I’m pregnant,” she whimpered. 

Gold sat down on one of the kitchen chairs with a thump. Music was still playing in the lounge, the sound of strings and woodwinds drifting through, their calming strains in direct contrast to the thumping of his heart and the ringing in his ears.

“It’s been months,” he said numbly.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice wobbling. “The baby’s due on May fifth.”

His mind did a hurried calculation from their last encounter. From the time he had fucked her in his shop with all the rage and passion he could muster. From the time she had destroyed him with cutting words and utter disdain. He swallowed hard, his throat sticking, dry and painful.

“And you’re sure it’s mine, are you?”

There was a moment of tense, awful silence. She had stopped crying.

“How _dare_ you,” she said coldly, and hung up.

His jaw tightened, and he glared at the phone screen, bringing up the call history to find her number and dialling it. The phone rang, but went to voicemail, and he felt his nostrils flare. He tried twice more, but wherever Belle was, she wasn’t picking up. Not for him, anyway. He sent a text message, a curt one-liner asking her to call, and ran a hand over his face, thinking hard. _ Pregnant. She’s pregnant. __What the hell are you gonna do now, you fucking idiot?_

“Fuck!” he growled, slamming a fist into his thigh and relishing the brief pain. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!”

It had been seven months since they had broken up, seven months in which he had retreated into the darkness, buried himself in work and tried not to think about what he had lost. She had left for college in Boston, left with a handsome young man in a shining red sports car, and he had assumed that would be the last he saw of her. Oh, he had grown nervous around Christmas time, thinking that perhaps she would return to visit her father, and had avoided the florist’s shop as much as he could, dreading the prospect of seeing her on the arm of her boyfriend, happy and radiant and out of his reach. To his knowledge, though, she had not come. He hadn’t had the courage to question her father about it when he came to pay the rent, but Moe French had nonetheless let slip some snide comment about how happy she was with her new lover. He had tried not to let the words pierce his soul. It was what he had wanted, after all. It was what she deserved.

Pushing to his feet, he retrieved his glass of wine and abandoned the cooking, heading for his study and turning on his computer. He doubted she would say the baby was his without being sure of it, but he needed certainty. He had been burned before, had failed to claim what was his with devastating results, and he would never make the same mistake again. There was no way he would let this child slip through his fingers, which meant that he would need to see Belle again. It meant that he would have to swallow what remained of his pride and his shattered heart and build a bridge between them, however difficult that might be. It meant a trip to Boston.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ripperblackstaff prompted: 31) “Life is not a fairytale. If you lose your shoe at midnight, you’re drunk.”

Belle ignored the phone when Gold called her back, sitting on the couch with her knees pressed together as she glared at his number flashing up at her. It gave her a strange sense of power to be the one sitting in cold silence when he was desperate to speak to her, and she told herself it was fair payment for all the nights she had cried alone after their break-up. Nights in which she suspected he had not lost a wink of sleep over her heartbreak. Eventually he appeared to give up on calling, the phone letting out a chime to indicate that she had a new message. She glanced at it, curling her lip at his curt request for a call, but opened up her contact list and entered his number. It wasn’t as though she could avoid speaking to him forever, and someone else might have to call him when she had the baby, so she needed his contact details to hand rather than simply burned into her brain along with the sound of his voice and the memory of his lips on her skin. Saving his number under the name _ Grade A. Arsehole _ gave her a certain petty satisfaction.

She dropped the phone into her bag, sitting back with a sigh and running a hand over the curve of her belly.

“Well,” she said. “That was your dad. Here’s hoping you don’t inherit his nature.”

She wiped the last few tears from her cheeks, taking a few calming breaths, and was surprised to find that she felt better for having spoken to him, however briefly. Odd, that it was his comment about the baby’s parentage that stopped her crying. Perhaps it had made her too angry to remember how scared she was. Perhaps rage was the best way to get through their interactions. She shook her head, slumping back against the cushions. No. It wasn’t good for her to hold so much anger. Heartbreak was more than enough to cope with.

Glancing at her watch, she sighed and pushed to her feet. A study session in the library awaited, and it would likely be a late one. She regretted not taking her friend Emma up on the offer of dinner beforehand, but she had decided that she couldn’t put off telling Gold any longer, and knowing what she had to do had stolen her appetite. Her belly still griped, but she knew she had to eat for the baby’s sake, and so she made a cheese and tomato sandwich, wrapping it in a paper napkin to eat on the way to the library.

She had not been two months into her Master’s degree in library science when she found out she was pregnant. Coincidentally, that had also been the day she met Emma, who had offered comfort when she found Belle weeping in the university toilets. Emma was twenty-seven, blonde-haired and pretty, and had an eight-year old son with her husband Neal. The three of them were crammed into a small two-bed apartment, but they were a happy little family, and Belle considered herself lucky to have them as friends. Emma was a mine of information on pregnancy and childbirth, and had already given Belle a lot of Henry's old things, including a crib and stroller that Belle would never have been able to afford. She also made Belle think that perhaps raising a child alone wouldn't be the worst thing in the world; Neal had been in prison when Emma gave birth, and had missed the first eighteen months of Henry's life, a fact that he had regretted ever since. It had been Neal that had encouraged Belle to call Gold and tell him that he had a child on the way. Belle still wasn't sure she was doing the right thing in that regard, but it was too late to back out now.

When she reached the library, Emma was sheltering by the entrance, a beanie hat pulled down over her blonde curls and a padded coat keeping the bitter wind from her.

“Oh good, you’re here, I was freezing my ass off,” she said, and tilted her head to the side. “You okay? Did you do it?”

“Yeah,” said Belle tiredly.

“And?”

“Well, I told him.”

“What did he say?”

Belle sighed.

“He asked me if I was sure it was his,” she said dryly. “So I hung up on him.”

Emma winced.

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

Belle pushed at the double doors, and Emma followed her in.

“Did he call back?”

“Yeah, several times.”

“You ignored him, right?”

“How’d you guess?”

“It’s what I’d do.”

Their footsteps echoed in the corridor, several students sweeping past them with books in their arms, and Belle turned into the main library area, where tables were pushed together and quiet group study was allowed. Stacks of books reached up towards the ceiling, carpets cushioning their steps, and she and Emma found an empty table, shrugging off coats and getting out books.

“So, how did you guys leave things?” asked Emma quietly, as she opened up her laptop. Belle pulled a face.

“We didn’t,” she said. “I was too angry to speak to him after that, so I - I guess I’m gonna have to call him tomorrow, or something. I needed time to think. Hearing his voice was…” 

She shrugged uncomfortably, and Emma nodded.

“Still hurts, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Belle quietly. “Does it ever stop?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.” Emma wrinkled her nose. “It would help if you weren’t still in love with the guy.”

“I am _ not_!” protested Belle, making some nearby students frown. She lowered her voice, leaning towards Emma, who was grinning. “I’m not, but - well, I guess it just brought it all back, that’s all. Back to when I thought we might have something. It’s - it’s stupid…”

“It’s not stupid,” said Emma gently. “If he’s too much of an asshole to see how amazing you are, he doesn’t deserve you anyway.”

“He doesn’t _ want _ me,” said Belle, feeling a stab of pain. “But that’s beside the point. It’s not about what he deserves. It’s about our child.”

“What do you think he’ll do?”

“I don’t know.” She slumped on the desk, chin resting on her folded arms. “I thought I knew him, right up until he ripped my heart out. Now, though…”

She shrugged, and Emma gave her a sympathetic look.

“You still think he’ll try to take the baby from you, huh?” she said knowingly.

“I - I worry about it, yeah,” admitted Belle. “I don’t exactly have my life together right now, do I?”

“You have your own place—”

“I have a one-bed on the third floor in a building where the elevator doesn’t work.”

“—and you’re studying for a Master’s degree!” went on Emma. “You have your life way more together than I did when I had Henry!”

“Yeah, well.” Belle sat up, pulling a face. “We’ll see if that’s good enough.”

“When are you gonna call him?”

“I don’t know.” She ran her hands over her face. “I kind of like the fact that he doesn’t know where I am and has to wait for me to call him. Is that petty?”

“Petty as hell, but I think you’re entitled.” said Emma. “Guy was an asshat.”

“Yeah,” sighed Belle. “Yeah, he absolutely was.”

Emma put her head to the side, rolling a pencil between her fingers.

“You think he’s seeing anyone else?”

Belle felt a sharp stab of jealousy at the thought, and told herself not to be an idiot.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t care, either.”

“Uh-huh.” Emma sounded unconvinced. “You might want to practice that one in front of the mirror before you say it to his face, honey.”

“I mean it!”

“Sure you do.”

Belle stuck out her tongue, and Emma bopped her on the nose with the end of the pencil, grinning.

“Anyway, I have more important things on my mind than worrying about who Alex might be dating,” said Belle glumly. “Like the fact that I’ll be giving birth in a couple of months. I can’t believe how fast the time goes. This time last year I was happy. I was in love, I had my whole future ahead of me. And now—”

“Now you have a different future,” acknowledged Emma. “But it’ll be awesome in different ways. Believe me.”

“I guess.” Belle folded her arms, leaning on the table again. “Maybe I was naive, thinking my first love would be some sort of - of - fairytale romance with a happy ever after.”

“Life is not a fairytale,” said Emma bluntly, waving the pencil at her. “If you lose your shoe at midnight, you’re drunk.”

Belle giggled.

“Can’t remember what that’s like,” she said, and Emma sniffed.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I got you covered. As soon as you’re up for it after the baby’s born, it’s girls’ night, okay? You, me, and enough booze to choke a horse. We’ll leave Neal looking after the kids.”

Belle laughed harder, and opened up her laptop.

“Okay,” she said. “You’re on.”

* * *

Gold had slept poorly, rising early and putting on a pot of coffee. He drank it seated on his back porch while he thought over his plans for the day. Belle had not called back, and he was moving back and forth between anxious concern and seething anger. He needed to find her. He needed to go to Boston. Which meant that he needed her address, and the one person he thought might have it was the last man he wanted to speak to.

Moe French had been surprisingly punctual with his rent payments since Belle had left town, which meant that Gold rarely had to interact with him. He prepared himself for the occasion by donning his three-piece armour, fine black pinstriped wool with a charcoal grey shirt and a tie in silk the colour of gunmetal. The two men had detested one another long before Moe had discovered Gold was sleeping with his daughter, and the manner of their break-up had only strengthened that dislike. Gold rubbed a hand over his freshly-shaven chin, remembering the punch Moe had given him the night before Belle had left town for good. It had hurt, but not as much as Belle’s final words, or the knowledge that he had pushed her away forever. He had deserved every bit of pain.

Shoving the memories away with a ruthless thrust, he took a final look in the mirror, straightening the knot in his tie as he shook back his hair, and drew on his overcoat before looping a cashmere scarf around his neck to cut the wind. The morning was fine, if bitter, so he slipped on a pair of dark glasses before heading out into the cold air of early spring. 

When he reached the town, Granny’s Diner was already busy with customers drinking cups of the strong, bitter coffee and wolfing down fried eggs and bacon. The florist’s shop was open, Moe French setting out buckets of roses and carnations in a stand outside, red and yellow blooms tumbling together in a riot of cheerful colour. His eyes narrowed as Gold approached.

“Rent’s not due until next week,” he said curtly, and Gold showed his teeth.

“Oh, I’m not here for the rent.”

“Then we’ve got nothing to say to one another, have we?”

Moe stomped into the shop, and Gold followed, cane tapping against the floor. The interior smelled pleasant, of green plants and fragrant flowers, and he took his time, his stride almost a swagger by the time he reached the cash register. Moe was glowering at him from behind it, baseball cap pulled down over his cropped hair, thick fingers twitching on the counter, as though he wanted to put them around Gold's throat. He was a tall, somewhat thickset man, with the baggy-eyed look of one who drank too much and had an aversion to green vegetables and exercise. Gold folded his hands over the cane handle, allowing himself a tiny smirk for no other reason than it would annoy Moe, and was rewarded with a scowl.

“What do you want?” asked Moe aggressively.

“I was wondering if you’d heard from your daughter,” said Gold.

He kept his tone careless, but watched sharply from behind the glasses. Moe’s nostrils flared, his jaw protruding a little.

“What’s it to you?” he snapped. “I told you to stay away from her!”

“Yes, well, I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said Gold quietly. “You see, I believe she left town with something of mine. Something very valuable. I’d like it back.”

Moe’s expression changed from angry to cautious_. _

“She didn’t say anything to me,” he said gruffly. “Last I heard she was heading out of town on some trip with her boyfriend. New York, I think.”

“Right.” Gold nodded slowly. “In that case, I’ll trouble you for her address. You know, for when she gets back from her - trip.”

Moe gave him an unpleasant smile.

“If you’re so sure she has something of yours, Gold, how about you call her and ask for it yourself?” he said. “I’m not being your bloody lackey. And I'm _definitely_ not telling you where she lives!”

Gold shook his head slowly, tutting under his breath.

“You remember how unpleasant I can be when crossed, Mr French, I’m sure,” he said, and Moe curled his lip.

“You’re unpleasant every fucking time I see you,” he said. “Hit me with that bloody cane all you want, but the best decision my daughter ever made was leaving town, and I’m not gonna help you find her, okay?”

“You think you can keep me from what’s rightfully mine, do you?” snapped Gold, and Moe snorted.

“Seems to me you take whatever the hell you want, and screw the consequences,” he said. “Why don’t you just let her go? She’s moved on with her life, and you’re here, stuck in the past, doing what you always do. Slithering around town like a fucking parasite waiting for a host to latch onto.”

Gold gave him a twisted smile.

“I suppose you’d know all about that.”

“Insult me all you like,” said Moe. “Won’t make me give you what you want. You don’t change. You’re just a selfish piece of shit, Gold, like you’ve always been.”

“And you’re what?” drawled Gold. “Father of the Year? Must have escaped my notice.”

“Believe it or not I've only ever wanted what was best for her,” said Moe roughly. “For all the bloody thanks I got.”

“As much as it may pain you to hear it, that’s what I wanted too,” said Gold coldly, and Moe let out a hollow laugh.

“Bullshit!” he snapped. ”You’re not interested in anything that doesn’t turn a profit! If Belle’s dumb enough to let you back in, that’s her problem. I’m not being a party to it, is all. Now either buy something, or get the hell out.”

Gold wanted to grind his teeth, but instead he nodded curtly, turning on his heel and striding swiftly from the shop. There were other ways to find Belle.

Stepping out into the sunlight, he headed for his shop, feeling a strange sort of relief as he closed the door behind him and headed through to the dark quiet of the back room. He pulled off the glasses, slipping them into the pocket of his overcoat, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that stood next to the painted silk screen he had never managed to sell. Eyes flashing with anger, jaw tight, hair hanging around his face, streaks of silver at his temples. Exactly how Belle had left him, when she had walked out of his life and dragged his shattered heart behind her on the road. He had tried to go on as though it had never happened, as though _ they _had never happened. Perhaps Moe French was right. Perhaps he would never change.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, checking to see if Belle had called before dialling her number again. This time it went straight to voicemail without ringing, and he growled under his breath. She was avoiding him. So be it. He called his associate Mr Dove instead, asking him to work his usual magic with the few details he had on Belle and her whereabouts. As he hung up, he glanced at his reflection again, his mouth twisting. Belle had moved on, had gone on with her life just as he had wanted her to. Perhaps it was time for him to make some changes of his own.

Nodding to himself, he tugged the overcoat around himself again and left the shop, heading up the road past the diner before turning off into one of the side streets. _ Rapunzel’s _was his regular hair salon, and if his favourite stylist Ivy was there, he would see if she could fit him in. Perhaps a new look could give him a fresh perspective. A new start. A new life. It was time to stop dwelling on the past

* * *

Belle’s day had not gone well.

It had started with her waking late due to forgetting to set an alarm, and in her panic burning the toast she was making for a quick breakfast. Swearing under her breath, she had thrown the burnt toast away and gulped down some tea before hurrying to the bathroom to brush her teeth. It was then that she had found a leak coming from her toilet, a pool of water slowly spreading outward around the base and soaking into the mat she had laid over the linoleum flooring. She had called the landlord, who promised to send someone out to fix it, and she had run back into the bedroom to get dressed. Her belly seemed to have grown in the night, and she needed to do laundry, so the only thing that fitted was a pair of denim dungarees. Muttering curses at everything she could think of, she pulled them on over a white T-shirt before quickly dragging a brush through her hair and twisting it up into a knot. There was no time for make-up, but by that point she had been past caring, and so she had rushed out of the apartment.

Lack of breakfast made it hard to concentrate on her studies, and she was snappy and exhausted even before discovering that she had forgotten to bring the lunch she had left in the fridge the night before. It meant that she would have to dip into her meagre supply of money to buy something from the cafeteria. It was tempting to slink back home, crawl into bed and pretend the day was over, but the paper that was due wouldn’t write itself, and so she trudged to the library, trying to concentrate while worrying over whether her apartment had flooded.

It was after six when she was done, and she packed up her things with a sigh, desperately tired, hungry, and wanting to burst into tears. The baby had been kicking, which usually made her smile, but which was only reminding her that she still had to deal with its father. She had kept her phone on silent, but Gold had called half a dozen times or more already, and she knew she would have to speak to him eventually. Holding a conversation with him while tired, stressed and hungry didn’t seem to be the best course of action, and so she decided to leave it until the following day. She made her way back to the apartment, swearing when she saw that the elevator was still broken, and trudged up three flights of stairs to her floor.

When she entered the apartment, it was very obvious that the plumber the landlord had promised to send had not been there, and Belle growled under her breath as she threw her bag of books onto the couch. The laundry hamper was overflowing, so she needed to deal with that. She also needed to take a shower, as she had not had time that morning. At least dinner was a no-brainer; she could eat the lunch she had prepared. She decided to ignore the laundry until she felt able to cope with it, and so she went into the bathroom, frowning at the leak that was still spreading outwards from the toilet, and turning on the water. There was a dull, ominous _ clunk _from the pipes, and Belle squealed as a jet of water sprayed out from one of the joints, soaking her. She scrabbled at the mixer tap, turning it off.

“_Fucking _thing!”

She was drenched, the entire front of her dungarees and the T-shirt beneath soaked through. Wet cotton was sticking to her skin and making her shiver, and she wiped water from her face, wanting to scream. _ First the toilet and now the shower? This day _ sucks_! _ A knock at the door made her glance around, and she almost sagged with relief. _ The plumber! Thank God, he can deal with this bloody thing too! _

Wiping wet hands on her dungarees, she hurried to the door, quickly peeking through the spy hole. She could see the back of a man’s head, greying hair cropped short above a black coat, and so she unlocked the door, wrenching it open.

“Oh good, you’re here!” she gasped. “I’m kind of having a situation—”

She cut off as the man swivelled on the toes of black, shining shoes to face her, the gleaming shaft of a cane coming to rest between his feet. Belle’s eyes travelled up from his toes, taking in the all-too-familiar three-piece suit and overcoat. He had cut his hair, silvery wisps just brushing the tips of his slightly-pointed ears, his eyes dark brown beads boring into her. Gold’s mouth was set in a grim line, and she felt her heart thump painfully in her chest.

“Miss French,” he said quietly. “It seems we need to have a conversation.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ripperblackstaff prompted: 25: "our child is dead"
> 
> I managed to fill this without killing anyone, though Belle is definitely thinking about clocking Gold one around the face.

Belle felt as though a cold hand had taken hold of her heart and was squeezing. It was hard to breathe, and she bit her lip to stop it from trembling. There was loud music coming from apartment 5, a throaty, grungy sound with the all-too-familiar overdub of the occupants yelling at each other. A door slammed somewhere along the corridor, making Belle jump. Gold was eyeing her steadily, a flat, unreadable expression on his face, and she was suddenly very aware that she was a mess, soaking wet and with no makeup on, whereas he was his usual contained, perfectly-attired self. How the hell had he found her? Why the hell did he have to look so _ good_? She gestured at him, a weak flail of one hand.

“You - you cut your hair,” she said lamely.

“Observant.”

His voice was cold, and it made her want to shrink back. She clutched at the door frame to steady herself, swallowing hard.

“What are you doing here?”

Gold raised an eyebrow, his mouth twisting.

“Seriously?” he said. “After the somewhat life-changing news you gave me, you really have to ask that?”

“I just meant - I just meant why are you _ here_,” she said, wishing she sounded more coherent than she felt. “I - I wanted us to meet somewhere else. Like - like neutral territory, or something. Like the corner diner.”

“Well, perhaps if you had responded to one of the numerous calls I made instead of resorting to the childish use of the silent treatment, you would have been able to call the shots,” he said dryly. “Alas, we are where we are. Are you going to let me in, or do you want to have this conversation out here on the landing?”

Belle hesitated, unsure how to tell him to fuck off in a way that would work, and Gold glanced back at the stairwell.

“It’s just that there’s a rather strong smell of marijuana coming from up from the second floor,” he said, “and I’d prefer not to have this coat reeking of it, if it’s all the same to you.”

Her brain had gone blank, and she couldn’t think of a good enough reason to refuse, so she stood aside in silence and let him walk past her. He seemed to drag the cold weather in his wake, and she shivered as she closed the door behind them, muting the grunge music to a low-level booming hum. Gold was glancing around her tiny apartment with a look of contempt, and she put her hands on her hips, feeling defensiveness rise within her.

“This is where you live?” he said coldly.

“It’s not that bad.”

“It looks as though it should have been declared unfit for human habitation ten years ago.”

“Yeah, well, not everyone can afford a four-bed Victorian,” said Belle stiffly. “I make minimum wage, okay?”

“The elevator doesn’t work,” he said, and she winced.

“Yeah, it’s - it’s kind of temperamental.”

“There’s damp on the landing walls outside,” he added. “I suspect a faulty air conditioning unit or a leaking pipe. Have you had any problems with mould?”

She folded her arms.

“Did you become the landlord when I wasn’t looking?”

“No,” he said coldly. “If I were landlord the elevator would work and there wouldn’t be fucking damp in the walls.”

“How I live is none of your business!” she snapped.

“It’s my business what environment you plan on bringing my child into,” he retorted. “Who else lives here?”

“No one!” she said, lifting her arms and letting them fall. “Why would you think someone else lives here, the place isn’t big enough to swing a cat!”

“Thank you for proving my point,” he said dryly. “You clearly thought I was someone else when I knocked on the door. A repairman, perhaps? What else is wrong with this hovel?”

He looked her up and down very deliberately, then headed for the bathroom. Belle let out a squawk of protest as he stepped past her, but Gold had wrenched open the door and taken in the scene that awaited him before she could stop him. He nodded to himself as he came back into the lounge area, wiping his shoe on the carpet and looking grim.

“Pack your things,” he said curtly.

_ “What?” _

“You heard me. Pack your things. You’re not staying here.”

“You can’t just turn up and throw me out of my own apartment!” she protested. “You have no _ right_!”

“I have every right!” he snapped. “You think I’m going to allow my child to live here? It’s a fucking death trap!”

“It’s not that bad!”

He stepped forward, right hand clenching on the cane handle. That old moonstone ring still circled his ring finger, the thick band gleaming gold, the blue-grey stone winking in the light.

“The elevator doesn’t work,” he began, ticking off points on the fingers of his left hand. “There is damp in the walls, and probably mould spores in the apartment. The fire exit was blocked by a couch someone hasn’t bothered to take to the dump. The fire escape itself is rusted through and looks as though it’d collapse if anyone stepped on it. Your toilet is leaking, the shower is about to fall apart, and I suspect the appliances haven’t been checked in years. This whole place is a tragic fucking news story waiting to happen!”

“It’s all I could afford!” she shouted.

“Well, things have changed, haven’t they?” he said bluntly. “I have an empty apartment I can give you. Pack your things. You’re moving out tonight.”

“I don’t want your _ charity_!” she said mutinously, knowing she was being unreasonable, and not caring.

“It’s not charity, it’s common sense!” he snapped. “If you want to kill yourself that’s your affair, but you won’t endanger my child, do you hear me?”

“Oh, so you are admitting it’s yours now?” she demanded. “Funny, I thought you had doubts in that area.”

“Are you telling me otherwise?”

“Of _ course _ not!”

“Then perhaps we can get past this tedious animosity and at least get you into a safe place,” he said coldly. “Or are you too stubborn to accept my help?”

“I didn’t ask for your help!”

He raised his chin a little, his jaw set. He was angry, and trying not to show it. She knew he was capable of deep emotion, that there was a boiling tide of rage inside him that threatened to rise up and drown the pair of them. She had seen him unleash it only once before, the night their baby had been made. It made her want to poke at him, to push until she got some sort of reaction, some indication that he was still a human being who lived and breathed and _ felt_.

“I don’t _ want _your help!” she added, glaring at him.

Gold pursed his lips, flexing his fingers on the handle of his cane as he seemed to swallow his anger down and snuff it out.

“Then I know how to proceed, don’t I?” he said, his voice deadly calm.

“What does _ that _mean?”

“Simple,” he said. “It means that the life you are living poses a risk that someone will call me one day to tell me our child is dead. It means that you clearly have no intention of putting its best interests before your own foolish pride. It means, my dear, that I will sue for full custody.”

Belle felt her mouth fall open, a finger of ice sliding down her back as the worst of all her fears was spoken to the air and given life.

“You’d - you’d _ take _ my _ baby_?” she whispered, horrified.

“_Our _baby,” he corrected. “And if you can’t satisfy me that you’d care for it sufficiently when not in my presence, then yes. Without question. Without remorse.”

He was watching her impassively, his eyes flat and black, and she shook her head vigorously.

“You can’t _ do _ that!”

“Oh, you know I can,” he growled, and for a moment his eyes flashed, hinting at the fury she knew he kept buried deep. “Just fucking try me.”

Belle shook her head again, pressing her hands over her belly protectively, and he nodded curtly and stepped back.

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” he said, striding to the door.

“No, wait!”

She had reached out to him, and he turned slowly to face her. Belle swallowed hard, hating that she had let him back her into a corner. Hating that he was right.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, I’ll - I’ll take the apartment.”

“Good,” he said quietly. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

Belle glowered at him, but he merely nodded.

“Be ready in three hours with whatever you need to get through the next few days,” he said. “I’ll send a team to collect the rest of your things later. Don’t bother cleaning the place up.” He ran his eyes over the room, and curled his lip. “Just carry on as you have been, in other words.”

She wanted to grind her teeth.

“I’ll pick you up at ten,” he added, and wrenched open the door, striding out and taking the last of her self-respect with him.

* * *

Belle used the three hours he had given her to wash and dry a load of laundry, leaving it running in the laundry room while she packed the rest of her things. At least she would be able to change out of her drenched outfit and into something clean. She packed up her laptop and college books, an overnight bag with toiletries, makeup and accessories, and a few novels. Once the laundry was dry, she packed it into another case before stripping off her now damp clothing and changing it for thick tights and a soft grey jersey dress over the top. 

His threat to take the baby had terrified her, her worst fears coming to life before her eyes and delivered in the same calm, measured tone he used to order coffee. She knew he would follow through on his threats, if it came to it, and she hated that she was dependent on him, that she needed his help.

For a moment it was all too much, and she sat down on the battered couch with a thump, burying her face in her hands and breathing deeply. It was that or cry, and she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing she had wept more tears over him. It wasn’t as though he had ever cried over her, after all. He didn’t care about her beyond the fact that she was carrying his child. She wished she had never told him. Would it have been so terrible to raise the baby alone?

_ Guess I’ll never know _ , she thought despondently. _ God, I’m tied to him forever. Tied to a man who doesn’t give a crap about me. Great job, Belle. Great job at ruining your life. _

She sat forward, wrapping her arms around her growing belly and hugging as she rocked back and forth. The past was done, and there was no undoing it. It was unfair to keep her child from its father, and she had more important things to worry about than her own broken heart. At least it seemed like Gold wanted to be involved in raising the baby. She wondered what sort of father he would be. Would he be cold and distant? Would he be indulgent and shower the child with presents when it was his turn to care for it, making her look mean and strict by comparison? She wasn’t sure either of those personas made sense for him, but then she had never seen him interact with children. For all she knew he couldn’t stand them, and was only back in her life because he never saw a right of his he didn’t want to enforce.

Still, at least their child _ would _have a father, she supposed. She had been disowned by hers as soon as she insisted on keeping the baby, although she thought that Moe would come around in time. Perhaps once the baby was born. He would want to get to know his grandchild, surely? She wondered what Gold’s childhood had been like, whether he had family out there somewhere, and realised she had no idea. She knew almost nothing about him, except that he was rich and solitary and way better in bed than he had any right to be. What basis was that for a relationship? What basis was that for anything?

Thinking about it was depressing, and so she sat up, running her hands over her face and getting to her feet. It was almost ten, and he would be right on time: he always was. She glanced around herself, checking that she had everything she needed. A knock at the door made her heart sink, but she squared her shoulders, pulled on her coat, hat and scarf and shouldered her overnight bag.

Gold had the same flat, impassive look on his face when she opened the door. She wondered what he had been up to for the past three hours, and decided she didn’t care. He nodded to the bag on her shoulder.

“Is that all you’re bringing?”

“Oh - no, I have a case.”

“I’ll take that.”

She let him step past her and grab the case on wheels, and she picked up her laptop bag and purse, waiting for him to stride out before locking the door behind them.

They went down the stairs in silence, and she glowered at his back as he sauntered out of the building. His old black Cadillac was parked on the street, looking very out of place, and she let him take the bags from her and stow them in the trunk before getting into the passenger seat. Gold got in on his side, shutting the car door with a thump that made her start, and pulling away without a word.

The silence between them was heavy and uncomfortable. Belle didn’t know what to say, her heart still full of pain and anger from the threats he had made, and so she stared out of the window so she didn’t have to look at him. It was strange being in the car again, and she was reminded of the hours she had spent there in happier times, when he had driven her out to the cabin with his hand on her thigh and his fingers stroking her bare skin. She chanced a look at him, eyes dropping to where his hand rested on the gear lever, the old ring gleaming in the pale glow of the streetlights. The tendons in his hand tugged and pulled as he changed gear, and she felt a lurch in her belly as she remembered the pleasure of his touch. She looked out of the window again.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“I own several apartments in the city,” he said stiffly. “One of them happens to have been vacated recently, and is ready to move into. It’s closer to the university.”

“Oh.”

He didn’t expand, and she didn’t feel like asking him anything further. It wasn’t as though she had a choice in where she would live.

They passed into a more affluent area of the city, the apartment blocks on tree-lined avenues, alongside cafes and small independent shops. Gold eventually pulled up outside a five storey building with gleaming stone steps and shining glass doors with the number 112 in large gilt letters. He got out, walking around to open the door for Belle and offering a hand to pull her to her feet. Even when he was being a bastard he never forgot his manners, she had to give him that. He took her case from the trunk, handing the laptop bag to her, and nodded to the door.

“Let’s go, then.”

As soon as Belle entered the lobby, she was made very aware of how different Gold’s apartment would likely be compared to her old one. There was a shining wooden desk in one corner, and a concierge in a crisp suit. He had grey hair and a neat beard, and gave them a warm smile, his eyes twinkling.

“Good evening, Mr Gold,” he said, his voice accented and a little gravelly. “The apartment is ready. My boy August took up the groceries, and has assured me that the hot water is working.”

“Thank you, Marco.” Gold gestured at Belle. “This is Miss French. Please give her whatever she requires.”

“Of course, of course!” Marco’s eyes merely flicked to Belle’s belly and back up again, but it still made her want to sigh. “Whatever she needs.”

“Thank you. Miss French?”

Gold walked towards the elevators, and Belle squared her jaw as she followed him. He pressed the button for the top floor, and the elevator doors closed with a gentle thump.

“Stop calling me that,” she said, and his eyes flicked towards her.

“What?”

“_Miss French_,” she said sourly. “I have a name. You’ve used it. You’ve shouted it while fucking me in your bed enough times, we’re not exactly strangers.”

“We’re not exactly friends, either.”

“Do you even _ have _ friends?”

He was silent, and she smirked to herself, feeling as though she had scored a point. She imagined there would be few enough of those in the months ahead, so she would take her small victories where she could.

The elevator stopped with a soft ping, the doors opening to reveal a wide, well-lit corridor carpeted in dark grey, the walls a lighter grey edged with white. Gold led her to the door at the end, reaching into the pocket of his overcoat for a key and letting her inside without a word. Belle wandered in, blinking as he flicked on the lights. The apartment was larger than the whole of her father’s house in Storybrooke, the lounge area spacious, surrounded by high windows hung with soft grey curtains. Wooden floors ran throughout, with thick rugs over the top in muted shades of white and grey. A leather corner couch and chair surrounded a glass coffee table, a flat-screen TV on the wall. The kitchen contained shining appliances, a large fridge that made its own ice cubes, and a waste disposal in the sink. There was a dining area with a table to seat six, and going to the windows, Belle could see that it looked out on the park. She imagined it would be beautiful on a sunny day.

“There are three bedrooms,” said Gold, from behind her. “I had them get in some groceries. Have you eaten?”

She shook her head.

“Do you want me to make you something?”

“No, I’ll do it myself.”

“As you wish.”

She put her bag on the table, heading for the bathroom. A glass and chrome cube held the shower, and there was a white porcelain bath next to it. The thought of having a bubble bath was heavenly, but she merely nodded to Gold when she came back out.

“It’s fine,” she said listlessly.

“Well, it’s yours.”

“Thank you.”

Her tone was flat as she took the keys from him, and he nodded, his jaw working a little as his fingers opened and closed on the handle of his cane.

“We obviously need to have a serious conversation about the future,” he said. “But I think we’re both too angry right now.”

“I think I’m entitled.”

“As am I,” he said coldly. “So I suggest we try to get over it and talk tomorrow, agreed?”

“I have class.”

“Then I shall return in the evening.”

“I have work.”

His jaw tightened.

“You can’t avoid me forever, Belle.”

“I’m not trying to…”

“And do you really think you should be working in your condition?”

“I’m pregnant, I’m not sick!” she snapped. “And I need the money!”

“No, you don’t,” he said shortly. “Not anymore. But perhaps that’s something to discuss tomorrow.”

“Fine,” she sighed, a wave of tiredness washing over her. “Fine. Eight o’clock?”

“Eight o’clock.”

He nodded curtly, and turned on his heel, heading for the door. Belle licked her lips.

“Did you mean it?” she asked, and he paused with his back to her.

“What?”

“That you’d take the baby?”

Gold turned slowly to face her.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “If I had to. But I’d prefer not to, if that’s any comfort. A child should know its parents, don’t you think?”

Belle swallowed.

“Yes.”

“All the more reason for us to come to a satisfactory agreement, then, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

There was silence. She couldn’t think of how to fill it, and so she looked at the keys in her hand, two pieces of bright steel on a brass fob with a square tag.

“Until tomorrow, then,” he said, and she heard him go, leaving nothing but a heavy atmosphere and the brooding aftermath of hurt and anger to mix with her own.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ashmarie220 prompted: Okay prompt request for dark heart remix! 26) "How can I go forward when I don't know which way I'm facing?"

Gold had booked a hotel suite for the week, but no matter how comfortable the bed was, or how dark the room, he was restless, and by four o’clock he had given up on the idea of sleeping, and got up to make some coffee. He drank it looking out on the darkened park, waiting for the sun to rise and listening to the news with half an ear. Rain was falling, lashing the windows in streaking trails limned in silver. He wondered if Belle was sleeping well. Whether she got enough rest. It didn’t look like it to him, and he hoped her stubbornness and righteous anger wouldn’t prevent her from accepting his help.

He was still angry over the fact that she had waited so long to tell him, still furious about the conditions she had chosen to live in rather than ask for his assistance. She and the baby could have burned to death in a fire and he would never have known. He focused on that anger rather than pick apart and study the desperate tangle of emotions that had burst into life in the deepest recesses of his brain upon learning that he was about to be a father again. There was too much fear and regret there for him to handle, and so he did what he had been doing for decades with unwanted thoughts and feelings, which was to shove them aside and ignore them.

The sun rose, a fact discernible only by the lightening of the sky. It was heavy with dark clouds, those at the horizon glowing red as embers. It seemed as though the rain would continue. Gold put on more coffee, and took a shower while he waited for it to brew. His usual morning routine of a wash and shave made him feel a little better, and he pulled a robe around himself and checked the time. Still reasonably early, but the city was coming to life, and so he poured the coffee and placed a call to his lawyer, Ella Deville.

“Alexander Gold,” she drawled, when he was put through. “It’s been too long, darling. How are you?”

“Fucking livid,” he said sourly. “I need some advice.”

“Whenever you need advice it makes me money, so _ do _ go on.”

He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help grinning.

“I presume everything’s going well on the Misthaven building deal?” she added.

“Very well,” he said. “Except for the top floor corner unit. Looks like I’m going to lose money on that one.”

“Why? It’s a perfect location, and the market’s in reasonable shape, all things considered.”

“Nothing to do with the property,” he said quickly. “It’s actually why I’m calling. I - I’m kind of letting someone stay there. Rent free.”

“You’re not usually known for your soft heart, darling,” she remarked. “It’s one of the things I admire about you. What’s caused this sudden crisis of conscience, and how is my excellent advice going to help?”

“This isn’t the usual real estate deal,” he said. “You may need to refer me to someone else. It’s a family matter.”

“Well, now I’m going to keep the case just to be nosy.”

Gold took a sip of his coffee, wincing at the heat of it on his tongue.

“It’s my - well, my ex, for want of a better word.”

“Your _ ex_?” She whistled. “My my, this is a first. The reclusive Mr Gold lets slip hints at a social life. Tell Auntie Ella all the sordid details, you bad boy.”

“Certainly not,” he said dryly. “It was a bad break-up and I wasn’t expecting to see her again.”

“And now?”

He hesitated.

“She’s pregnant.”

There was a moment of silence at the other end of the line.

“Well,” said Ella. “That must have been quite a shock.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” he muttered.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” she added. “I presume she says it’s yours?”

“Yes.”

“And you have doubts?”

“I - I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m not saying I think she’s lying, but - well, we hadn’t spoken since the break-up. I have no idea what she’s been up to.”

“Of course.” He could hear her scribbling. “She could be playing you, and we certainly can't discount it. You're a very rich man, after all, and that has to be a better prospect than whatever lumbering college boy caught her fancy one drunken night, hmm?"

Gold closed his eyes as he remembered what Belle's boyfriend looked like. Was he the father? Had he abandoned Belle over the baby, leaving her no choice but to come to him? Would she really be that cruel, to make him responsible for another man's child? To get his hopes up only to crush them? _Could you blame her if she did? You did it to her after all. You led her on, then broke her heart, and destroyed the both of you in the process._

"Alexander?"

He blinked, clearing his throat.

"She must know it's the sort of thing that can be tested," he managed.

"Oh yes," said Ella. "But desperate people do stupid things, I find."

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes, they do."

"Well, I suggest a paternity test," she said briskly. "Easy enough, and quick. A simple blood test should do it, and then you’ll know. One way or the other.”

Gold felt a momentary chill at the thought of the result being negative.

“Right,” he said. “Yes.”

“If the test is positive, we can talk about next steps,” she said. “Any initial thoughts on what you want to do?”

“I want to exercise my rights to the child, of course,” he said curtly.

“Yes, but there’s a myriad of options in that field,” she said. “If you think things are likely to get nasty, I may need to get one of my colleagues to handle the case. Ursula is a fantastic family lawyer, as well as being an _ excellent _kisser.”

“I’ll rely on whatever you advise,” he said. “I - I hope we can come to an agreement without the need for that, but she’s stubborn.”

“I suppose it’s early days,” she said. “What are your initial thoughts on the ideal outcome?”

Gold ran a hand through his hair, short, damp strands licking against his fingers.

“I - I want to make sure she can’t take it from me,” he said. “I need to ensure that. I want to be named as its father, to be equally involved in raising it, to have equal say in any decisions about its life, education and welfare.”

“Hmm,” she said. “I see you’ve given this quite a bit of thought.”

“Well, it’s not like I spent the night sleeping, or anything,” he said sourly.

“Why don’t we make sure there’s a right there to be exercised, first,” she said. “Let’s do the test. We can worry about the complications afterwards. Is she seeing anyone?”

“I - I don’t know,” he said. “She lives alone.”

“I see. Well, once we get the results, you can start planning your future,” she said. “Should take about a week. When is the baby due?”

“May fifth.”

She made a strangled sort of noise.

“And you’re only calling me _ now_?”

“I only just fucking found out!” he snapped. “Hence me saying I was livid!”

Ella tutted slowly.

“Just how much of a giant arsehole were you to make her not talk to you until she was seven months pregnant?”

His mouth twisted.

“I believe you can guess the answer to that.”

“Hmm. That bad?”

He winced.

“Probably worse.”

“Surprised she called you at all, in that case.”

“Can we leave the character assassination for another day?” he said shortly. “Will you arrange this test?”

“You’ll need her consent.”

“Oh, I’ll get that, I assure you,” he said grimly.

“Let me make a few enquiries, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m staying in Boston, by the way. Just call me on this number.”

He hung up, slipping the phone into his pocket and turning back to his coffee. Just under twelve hours before he could see Belle. Just under twelve hours that he had to fill to keep his mind from concentrating on the worst that his imagination could produce. At least she was unlikely to run away, in her current condition. At least there was that.

* * *

After Gold had gone, Belle went to run herself a bath, and explored the apartment properly. It really was beautiful, the furniture sleek and expensive, the rugs soft and thick beneath her feet. She looked in the kitchen cupboards, finding a multitude of cans and dried goods, and the fridge, which contained a wide variety of vegetables, fresh milk, cheese and butter, eggs and cream and fresh juice. There was a sliced loaf of bread on the kitchen counter, one of those artisan loaves with seeds in the crust. She was hungry, but exhausted, so she made herself a sandwich and ate it at the kitchen table, washed down with a glass of milk.

Taking a bath felt like true luxury, and she stayed there until the water was tepid, wrapping herself in a thick towel when she was done. The bed was king-size, ready made with heavy cotton sheets and a dark grey eiderdown, and Belle curled up in it, a cup of tea steaming on the nightstand. The apartment was beautiful, but a part of her worried that she had moved into a gilded cage, from which she would find it hard to escape. A cage where Gold could swoop in and take their baby if she ever displeased him.

She was anxious, and her sleep was restless because of it. Waking up to pouring rain didn’t help, but she made herself scrambled eggs on toast for breakfast and ate it at the kitchen table, looking out over the city as it started to come to life. She had a view of the park and tree-lined streets, and she had to admit that it was a much better start to the day than in her old apartment, where she would have been listening to the couple next door yelling at each other. She would have to make the best of losing some of her freedom, for the sake of the baby.

The rain had eased a little by the time she got to the university, and she headed straight for the coffee shop, where she found Emma juggling a pile of books in one arm and a large coffee and Danish in the other. Belle took the coffee from her before she could drop anything.

“Thanks,” said Emma, nodding to a free table. “How are you? You look kinda beat.”

“Yeah, didn’t sleep well,” said Belle, and hesitated. “Alex tracked me down.”

Emma’s eyes widened, and she shoved her books onto the table.

“Wait _ right _there!” she ordered, wagging a finger before hurrying back to the counter. Belle took a seat, watching listlessly as Emma ordered a tea and another Danish and hurried back, shoving them across the table at her. She shrugged out of her heavy coat, pulling the woollen hat from her head.

“Right,” she said. “What happened?”

Belle launched into an explanation of everything that had happened between them the previous evening, and Emma listened, only interrupting to snort loudly or curse Gold out. By the time Belle had finished, though, she was looking thoughtful.

“He seriously said he’d take the baby if you didn’t do what he wanted?”

“Pretty much.”

“You think he was serious?”

“Oh yes,” said Belle dryly. “I think he meant every word.”

“What an asshole.”

“That’s one word for him.”

“Well, we just have to make sure he can’t follow through on the threat,” said Emma.

“So - do as he says?”

“If what he wants means the baby’s safe and you get to keep it, then yeah.”

“Ugh.” Belle sat back, pulling a face.

“Just saying.”

“I know,” sighed Belle. “I know it’s the sensible thing to do, I just - I _ hate _that I don’t have options, you know?”

“I know, honey.”

“He just - he just _ waltzes _back into my life with his perfect suit and his stupid perfect haircut and looks down his nose at me and I have to dance to his bloody tune!” groused Belle. “I was already well aware that I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, I didn’t need a reminder!”

“You’re doing fine!” said Emma soothingly, reaching for her hand and squeezing.

“I’m not, I’m - I’m a _mess_!” said Belle, feeling tears sting her eyes. “I have zero control over my life and I’m just - just _ winging _it every bloody day! How can I get through life like that? How can I go forward when I don’t know which way I’m facing?”

“Honey…”

“You think I don’t know what he saw the moment I opened that door to him?” Belle went on, gesturing with a hand. “I’m _ pathetic_!”

“Belle,” said Emma sternly. “Stop. Breathe. You’re one of the least pathetic people I’ve ever met. You’re just going through some pretty serious life events right now, okay? It’s enough to throw anyone off their game.”

Belle huffed air out in a long breath, slumping in her chair a little, but nodded. Emma squeezed her hand again, and reached for her coffee.

"How's that paper going?" she asked. "You get all those resources you were looking for?"

"Most of them," said Belle, tearing a piece off her Danish and popping it into her mouth. "Professor South gave me some good feedback on my last piece, so I'm hoping I can build on that. You?"

"I have about fifteen hundred words of my criminology paper, and most of that's crap," said Emma bluntly.

"I'm sure that's not true."

"Okay, maybe only thirteen hundred words is crap."

Belle giggled.

"You want to get together for a study session this weekend?" she asked. "Turns out I suddenly have a lot of space to work in."

"Sure. If you let Neal and Henry bring dinner over when they pick me up."

"It's a date."

Belle reached for her tea, taking a sip, and Emma took a bite of her Danish. She watched Belle as she chewed and swallowed, reaching for her coffee again.

“So,” she said. “Baby daddy’s given you a new apartment?”

“He hasn’t _ given _me anything, he’s letting me stay there,” said Belle morosely.

“Still.” Emma took another bite. “Gotta be better than the old place. I kept telling you it was a fire hazard.”

“Yeah, well, beggars can’t be choosers, right?” said Belle. “And now I’m dependent on him.”

“Not forever,” said Emma reasonably. “When you finish college you’ll be in a way better position. And at least it seems like he wants to help out, right?”

“I guess,” she said despondently. “I just - I hate feeling _ powerless_.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Emma took a slurp of her coffee. “But you need to think about what’s best for the baby. And sometimes that means swallowing your pride. Believe me, I know.”

“Yeah.”

Belle picked up her Danish and took a bite, and Emma tilted her head.

“You said he’s coming over tonight,” she said. “You want some backup?”

Belle shook her head as she chewed and swallowed.

“I’ll be okay,” she said. “We need to talk about what we’re gonna do, I know that. I just hope we can do it without me wanting to strangle him with his own tie.”

“Try sleeping with him,” suggested Emma cheerfully. “I’m willing to bet you could bang your way to a better deal.”

Belle shot her a flat look.

“Okay, that’s a piece of advice I definitely _ won’t _ be taking.”

"Really." Emma's voice was flat. "How does he look?"

Belle groaned, slumping in her chair.

"He cut his hair," she said gloomily.

"So?"

She sat forward again.

"He used to have this long hair," she said. "It sort of came to his jaw and it was really soft and it used to brush my face when—” She pulled a face. "Well, you know."

"And now?"

"He's cut it all off."

"So that's good, then," said Emma. "He looks like shit?"

"_No!_ That's the _problem_!"

Belle slumped forward, letting her head thump onto her folded arms.

"So, getting back to my sleeping with him idea," said Emma, and she raised her head.

"I'm _not _doing that!"

Emma winked at her, popping the last piece of Danish into her mouth and licking crumbs from her fingers.

“We’ll see,” she said. “I give it a week.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time, Gold sought some legal advice and Belle prepared for their next meeting by talking things over with Emma. They were both given good advice so that means they’re gonna be sensible about things, right?

Belle managed to get through a day of college without any issues, and at three p.m. she headed back into her old neighbourhood, and to the diner where she worked. She explained that she had to leave at seven due to an appointment connected to her pregnancy, and the manager gave her a long, appraising look that made her sigh. She had already taken time off in the early days when morning sickness had been a problem. Ed wasn’t known for his tolerance of absenteeism, or his treatment of his waitresses, and she suspected he was close to firing her. Jasmine, one of the other waitresses, immediately offered to stay to cover the rest of her shift, which made him nod slowly and wander off to the kitchen, and Belle heaved a sigh of relief before thanking Jasmine profusely. The last thing she needed on top of everything else was to lose the one source of income she had. 

By the time she left the diner she was sticky with sweat and her feet ached. The rain had grown heavier again, so she ducked into a nearby deli to try and wait it out, and to purchase a few items that she had noticed Gold hadn’t picked up. He’d done pretty well with the groceries, from what she had seen, but she didn’t have any hot chocolate powder, or the thick yogurt that she liked, or peppermint tea to settle her stomach when the baby was kicking. She was sure that if she mentioned it, he would get her anything she wanted, but she didn’t want to ask anything more of him, and so she wandered the deli aisles, breathing in the comforting scent of fresh bagels and ground coffee as she made her choices with what remained of last week’s wages.

Purchases made and packed into a large paper bag, she was dismayed to find that the rain had only grown heavier. It was also further to the new apartment than she had appreciated, and she hurried along the sidewalks, head down and her umbrella keeping the worst of the rain from her. The wind was trying to get through her coat, and she shivered as icy fingers traced her cheeks and whipped around her legs. A truck passed at speed, veering too close to the sidewalk, ploughing through the deep puddles that were collecting and sending a sheet of water over her. Belle choked, stopped in her tracks by the shock of it. Cold water dripped down her face, and she spat, blinking furiously.

“You _ bastard_!” she shouted, glaring after the truck as its red tail lights sped away from her.

She was drenched, her legs soaking and cold water seeping through the shoulders of her coat. It was pointless to keep using the umbrella, and so she furled it, tucking it under her arm and hugging the paper bag of groceries to her chest in case it started falling apart. Her boots squelched as she walked, water pooling underneath her feet inside them, and she winced at the unpleasant sensation. By the time she reached the apartment building she was drenched, and ready to burst into tears of anger and frustration. Marco, the concierge, immediately hurried to the door to meet her as she stumbled inside.

“Here, here, let me help you!” he exclaimed, picking up a packet of tea bags grown soggy with rainwater.

“I’m fine,” lied Belle. “What time is it?”

“Five past eight,” he said. “You sure you don’t need help? You look frozen! It’s not good for the little one, no?”

“Nothing a nice cup of tea won’t fix,” she said.

Marco smiled broadly, but she bit her lip as she remembered it was what her mother, dead for many years, had always said. Colette had been kind and gentle, with a ready smile and a warm embrace, and Belle wished she was there to tell her what to do.

“Here, let me at least call the elevator,” he said, and pushed the button for her, the doors sweeping open with a soft ping.

Belle leaned back against the wall with a sigh, letting the warmth wash over her as the elevator travelled upwards. It was past eight o’clock. Gold would be there. She wished she hadn’t agreed to meet again so soon. She wondered if there would ever be a time when she wasn’t looking like a young woman so completely out of her depth. She was willing to bet a truck hadn’t drenched _ him _with water. It probably wouldn’t dare.

Sure enough, when the elevator opened its doors and she stepped out into the corridor, gripping the sodden groceries, he was standing outside her apartment door, looking as calm and immaculate as ever. It made her want to scream. His eyebrows climbed upwards at the sight of her, which only angered her more.

“What happened?” he asked.

“What does it look like?” she snapped, rummaging for her key. “This place is further from work than I thought, and I got drenched!”

“You should have called.”

“God, I’m so sorry you had to wait outside the apartment for all of _ five minutes_!”

She opened the door, barging inside and stomping to the kitchen to deposit the disintegrating bag on the counter. She could hear the tap of his cane as he followed her.

“I simply meant that if you had called, I would have picked you up,” he said calmly.

Belle leaned on the counter, letting her head drop.

“Oh.”

Water was dripping from the ends of her hair, droplets splashing on the counter top, and she felt him step nearer, his closeness like an itch between her shoulder blades, a creeping tightness in her lower belly.

“Go and take a shower,” he said. “I’ll put the groceries away.”

“No, I can do it!” she insisted, pushing up again and turning to face him.

“Of course you can,” he said flatly. “But you’re soaked through and freezing, so it makes sense to go and take a hot shower, wouldn’t you agree?”

Her mouth worked. She wanted him to snap back at her, so she had an excuse to yell. More of an excuse than he had already given her, anyway. Why did he have to be so fucking _ reasonable_? Damn him!

“Fine,” she said stiffly, and stomped off again, grabbing her robe and nightshirt from the bedroom and locking the bathroom door behind her.

She spent a long time in the shower, letting the hot water course over her, enjoying the heat that sank into her body. Once she was done, she wrapped her hair in a towel and began massaging cocoa butter into her skin, concentrating on her belly and breasts and finishing with long sweeps along her arms. Her reflection was blurred, the mirror covered in condensation, but she towel-dried her hair and brushed it out before pulling on the soft jersey nightshirt and wrapping herself in the robe. Battered sheepskin booties kept her feet snug, still warm and cosy despite their age. Not exactly her best look, but it wasn’t as though she was trying to seduce him, even if she could. She remembered the nights she had spent with Gold, when she had worn silk underwear edged with lace, and he had kissed every inch of her body as he took it off her. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Sighing to herself, she opened up the bathroom door. There was a savoury smell drifting from the kitchen, and her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime. _ So. He’s cooked. _

Gold glanced around as she entered the kitchen, stirring something in a pan. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, looking as though he belonged in the kitchen, a stark reminder that this was his apartment, not hers. She remembered the times he had cooked for her before at his home in Storybrooke, when he had served up dinner on that big old dining room table, and afterwards he had stretched her out and made her the dessert. She swallowed hard, shoving the memory away.

“Take a seat,” he said. “I guessed that you wouldn’t have eaten, so I thought I’d make dinner. You don’t mind?”

Belle shrugged, sitting down at the table. He had laid two places and set out glasses of water, and there was a bowl of dressed salad and a dish of grated parmesan in the middle of the table. She could smell fried garlic, tomatoes and pungent herbs, and wondered what he was making. It would be good, she had no doubt of that. Gold always made good food. _ The bastard. _

She watched as he turned off the heat and began dishing up, bringing two large bowls to the table. Penne pasta with a rich, thick sauce made with onions, garlic and tomatoes, basil and oregano and pieces of italian sausage. Her mouth watered, and she scooped parmesan onto it and dug in, the tomatoes sweet and sharp, the sauce rich with olive oil and melting fat from the sausage. There was a spicy kick from some fresh chilli, and she speared pieces of pasta, loading them with sauce and shoving them into her mouth with unladylike enthusiasm. Gold ate more slowly, watching her as she sat back and added some salad to her bowl. It was a good match, the vinaigrette dressing a sharp contrast to the rich sauce. She took a drink of water, spearing a piece of sausage on her fork.

“So,” he said evenly. “You said the baby was due on the fifth of May.”

“That’s right.”

“Do you have a doctor?”

Belle wrinkled her nose.

“Not exactly,” she said. “There’s a clinic near my old apartment that provided free prenatal care.”

“I see.” His fork dug into the pasta, stabbing and piercing. “I’ll get you better care. When’s your next appointment?”

“Next week.”

“Let me make some calls.”

“Knock yourself out.”

If he was irritated by her offhand tone, he didn’t react. Belle loaded more pasta onto her fork, shoving it into her mouth and chewing. Gold glanced up at her, dark eyes weighing, measuring.

“What has the doctor said?” he asked. “Is the baby alright?”

She swallowed, putting down her fork and reaching for the water to take a sip.

“Yeah, the baby’s fine,” she said. “Developing as expected, no problems on that front.”

“You’ve had scans?” he pressed. “Ultrasounds?”

“Yes,” she said evenly. “They confirm the baby is fine, as I said. Totally human, which given its parentage was something of a surprise.”

He didn’t rise to that, and she poked at her food, feeling his eyes on her, as though he was judging her, and finding her wanting. It was making her irritable.

“And you?” he said. “You look thinner. Are you eating enough?”

“I spent months throwing up, and I study and work every hour I’m not sleeping,” she said shortly. “I try to take care of myself as much as I can, but it turns out growing a person is hard fucking work, okay?”

“I’m not sure how my words were taken as a criticism, but alright,” he said dryly, and she sighed, dropping her fork and running her hands over her face, her appetite gone.

“Look, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve had a long day, I had the shittiest journey back here, and I’m pretty sure the diner manager is gonna fire me any day now.”

“You don’t need to work,” he said. “You _ certainly _don’t need to work in a bloody diner, I told you that. If you need money I can give you money.”

“Yeah, well, I’d like to keep what’s left of my independence, if it’s all the same to you,” she muttered.

Gold put down his fork, sitting back and looking irritated.

“Do you have to be so bloody stubborn?” he demanded. “I’m trying to help you.”

“I _ know_!” she snapped. “I know you are, and I know I _ need _ your help, but I don’t _ want _to need your help, don’t you get that?”

“Well, what you _ want _ is not my concern,” he said, reaching for his water again. “What’s important here is what’s best for you, and for the child. Speaking of which, I want a paternity test.”

She felt her eyes widen.

“You want _ what_?”

“I want a paternity test,” he repeated. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

Belle sat back, mouth open in outrage.

“You - you don’t believe me?”

“It’s not a question of whether I believe you,” he said coldly. “It’s simply the fact that I know nothing about your life since you left Storybrooke. For all I know you were fucking half of Boston.”

She wanted to slap his face, and so she pushed away from the table, storming through to the lounge and pacing back and forth. She heard the scrape of chair legs as he followed.

“Is this you refusing to do the test?” he asked, from over her shoulder, and she whirled to face him.

“Oh no, I’ll do the test,” she snapped. “And when it’s positive you can bloody well apologise to me!”

“For what?”

“For suggesting that I sleep around!” she said hotly. “Not that it’s any of your business! Why do you even care what I do?”

“I don’t,” he said coolly. “But if you’re going to claim this child is mine, I care that’s it not in fact the spawn of some musclebound beer-swilling moron.”

“Right, because that’s _ so _the type I usually go for…”

Gold rolled his eyes.

“And more importantly, because my lawyer advised it,” he drawled. “So perhaps we can dispense with the emotional outbursts.”

“Fuck you, Gold.”

“Some other time, perhaps.” He looked at his fingernails. “My lawyer also advised that if we want to come to an arrangement, I needed to find out a little more about your life. Are you in a relationship?”

Belle folded her arms, raising her chin.

“I’m not telling you that,” she said, and his jaw tightened.

“May I ask why not?”

“Because you lost the right to ever question me about my private life when you broke up with me,” she snapped. “It’s none of your business who I date.”

“And if the person you’re seeing is a threat to my child, what then?”

“If they’re a threat to _ our _child, they’re out of the picture,” she said flatly. “What about you? Is your life just an endless series of meaningless hook-ups with whatever Storybrooke has to offer? How can I be sure you’d take care of our child when it was your turn, huh? Not like you have actual human feelings, is it?”

His eyes gleamed, and she felt a traitorous lurch in her belly at the sight of it.

“Don’t think you can derail this conversation!” he said sharply. “I’m still waiting for an explanation as to how I’m only finding out I’m to be a father two months before the baby’s due!”

“That’s - that’s not—”

“Was there a problem?” he went on. “I know sometimes the - the signs aren’t always there, so was it that? Did you only find out recently, or something?”

“What, you think I was out partying and drinking shots and all of a sudden it was ‘whoops, my pants don’t fit’?” she asked sarcastically.

“Well, I’ve no fucking idea, because you didn’t tell me!” he snapped, his accent thickening with his anger. “How long have you known?”

Belle shifted awkwardly, and he took a step forward, his eyes darkening.

_ “How long?” _

“Five months,” she muttered. Gold’s eyes widened in outrage.

_ “Five months?” _ He ran a hand over his face, his cheeks making a wet, clapping noise against his teeth. _ “Five fucking months?” _

“And three days,” she added sulkily. 

“And I’m only finding out _ now_?”

“Looks like it, huh?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, anger making his voice rise. “Why the _ hell _ didn’t you _ tell _me?”

“Why do you _ think_?” She put her hands on her hips. “Given how you broke up with me, you really have to ask that?”

He blinked rapidly, gesturing between them.

“Oh, so - so this was punishment, is that it?”

_ “No!” _ she insisted. “I wasn’t _ punishing _you, I just - I didn’t know what to say!”

“How about ‘I’m pregnant with your child’?” he snapped, making his fingers dance in the air. “Five words, Belle! Five little words and I would have come fucking _ running_!”

“How would I _ know _ that?” she asked, throwing up her hands. “Which of the terrible things you said to me would ever suggest you’d _ care_?”

He snapped his mouth shut, nostrils flaring, chest heaving, and she knew she had scored a hit. She took a step closer, raising her chin.

“Go on,” she said. “What was it? Was it when you said you’d taken everything I had to offer? Was it when you told me I was - was too much effort for too little reward?”

_ “Stop that!” _he hissed, his eyes flashing.

“Was it when you said that you’d prefer a gourmet meal but you’d take the fucking two-dollar take-out if I was offering it on a plate?” she spat. “Was _ that _it?”

“_Stop _ it!” 

_“I won’t!”_ she shouted. “Do you have any idea how that _feels_? To have the person you love spit such - such _ venom _ at you? Do you have any idea how _ damaging _that is?”

He glanced away, swallowing hard, and she nodded, sagging a little.

“You _ do _ know,” she whispered. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”

He was silent, and she felt rage swell inside her, rage and hurt and frustration.

“How _ dare _you!” she snapped. “Why did you do it?”

“You know why!” he growled.

His eyes were glinting darkly, his chest heaving, and she felt her mouth fall open, realisation hitting hard enough to make her gasp. Her mouth twisted, and she shook her head.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I know why. Because you’re a coward.”

His jaw tightened, his breath quickening.

“No,” he said, the word falling from his lips with soft menace. He was rattled, and it made her want to laugh in triumph. She took a step closer, raising her chin so that her eyes met his.

“Yes,” she whispered. “You’re a coward. You pushed me away because you started to feel something, am I right?”

He was almost close enough to touch, close enough that she could smell his cologne, that she could feel the heat from him. It was as though sparks filled the air, dancing between them, making her hair rise and her skin tingle. Gold leaned in, his lips drawing back over his teeth in a grimace.

“Don’t try to analyse me, dear,” he growled.

“Oh, I don’t need to,” she said. “I just need to remember everything I’ve read about useless, commitment-shy arseholes with intimacy issues!”

“I suppose I should be more like you, should I?” he demanded. “Just clinging to the first person to come along because you can’t bear to be alone?”

“You know _ nothing _about my life!”

“And you know nothing about mine!”

His nose was almost brushing hers, and she could sense that he was trying to intimidate her, to make her back down. It only made her want to stand her ground. She stared up at him, watching his chest heave and feeling his cool breath against her lips. Her heart was thudding hard in her chest, her pulse throbbing all the way down between her legs, and she licked her lips, watching his eyes briefly follow the path of her tongue. She felt a surge of desire for him, a need to touch him, to taste him. To know whether all she had felt for him was real.

It only took her rising up on her toes, hand stroking over his shoulder, her lips brushing against his, and his mouth slammed against hers. His lips pushed hers apart, and she slipped her tongue into his mouth, letting out a moan as she tasted him. Gold let out a rumbling groan, one hand sinking into her damp curls as he pushed her back against the nearest wall. Her belly was pressing into him, and he jerked back almost immediately, their lips parting with a smacking sound, his breath hot against her mouth. Belle grabbed his face with both hands, pulling him back to her and kissing him hard, and he let his cane fall to the side, his hands sweeping over her hips and grasping her rear.

She raked her hands through his hair, the unfamiliar feel of short strands tickling her fingers. Her touch pulled a deep growl from him, a low, bass tone that rumbled through her body, and she slid her hands down over his chest, dropping to the belt of the robe at her waist. Tugging it open, she scrabbled at his belt with shaking hands, her kiss grown hard and desperate. Gold was cupping her face with both hands, fingers sinking into her hair and sending shivers through her as his tongue pushed into her mouth, and she got the belt open with a clinking sound, flicking open his fly and reaching in to feel the hard length of his cock, cradled in silk.

Gold groaned into her mouth, and Belle squeezed him, cheeks flushing as she remembered exactly how good it felt to have him inside her. His hands slid down her body, pushing beneath the hem of her nightshirt and shoving it up over her hips, and he reached between her legs, fingers stroking her and releasing a rush of fluid. She pulled her mouth from his, head thudding back against the wall, letting out a cry of pleasure as his thumb rubbed over her clit. Gold trailed his mouth down her neck, making shivers ripple through her as he bit down, and she moaned, squeezing his cock, feeling his tongue sweep over her skin as his fingers pushed deep inside her.

Gold sucked on her throat, his tongue swirling against the place where her pulse throbbed, hard and heavy. He could feel her clenching around his fingers as he rubbed at her, her flesh like wet silk, his body humming with the need to be inside her, to sink into her, to feel her come all around him. Her hands were shaking as she grasped his shoulders and pushed him back a little, his fingers slipping from her with a wet, sucking sound. He thought perhaps she wanted him to stop, and he pulled back, but then her mouth was on his neck, nipping at his skin, her hands scrabbling at his pants and underwear and pushing them down over his hips. 

This was a bad idea. This was a bad, stupid, _ terrible _ idea. This would solve absolutely nothing, and would probably make everything worse. He knew that, and he almost said so, almost pushed her away and stopped her, stopped himself. But then she grasped his cock in her hand and stroked him hard and ran her tongue up his throat, and he smothered that tiny voice at the back of his brain, that tiny shrieking voice that might have been what passed for a conscience. He smothered it and silenced it and pushed wet fingers through her hair as he kissed her thoroughly, tasting the sweetness of her one last time.

She pushed at him, and he stumbled, falling heavily to the thick rug, his head thumping against the floor and making him groan. There was a sharp lance of pain through his leg, and he closed his eyes, grimacing, but Belle had straddled him, heat and wetness pressing against him, and he opened his eyes as she took him in hand. The robe was open, the jersey nightshirt clinging to her rounded belly and the swell of her breasts, her dark, damp curls framing her face. She was utterly beautiful, and for a moment he was breathless, transfixed by the sight of her.

He stroked his hands up her pale thighs, and she rocked her hips, rubbing herself along his length, coating him with her juices, bathing him in her heat. Gold let out a groan at the feel of her, and she sank down onto him with a long, slow movement, taking him deep inside, scalding him. He threw his head back with a hoarse cry as he pushed his hips upwards, and she moaned in response, hands braced on his belly, gripping the silk of his shirt.

Being inside her was delicious, incredible, and he gripped her hips as she began to rock against him, her movements swift and hard and urgent. She rode him like she hated him, and he imagined she did after what he had done, but the feel of her was making him see stars, the heat and friction building in a tight ball of pleasure that was starting to swell and grow, waiting to burst. He could feel it rise up through his body, making his skin tingle and his cock grow rigid. Belle’s movements quickened, her body rubbing against him as her hips pumped, her head rolling back to expose the pale length of her throat, the curves of her breasts and belly pushing against the nightshirt. She was glorious. A goddess.

He was near his peak, he knew it, and he wanted to hold off, to remain inside her, to feel the pull of her against him as she chased her own pleasure. He wanted to feel her come all around him, and he could sense that she was close, her flesh clenching and fluttering, her muscles growing taut where her thighs gripped his sides. She whimpered, her pace quickening, and he felt her come hard, a cry bursting from her. The muscles of his lower belly bunched as his shoulders rose up off the floor, a groaning gasp coming from his lungs as stars burst in his vision, blinding him. He came with a shout, his cock pulsing and spurting inside her, wet flesh tugging at him, and he fell back against the rug with a thump, pleasure washing over him as her movements slowed and stopped.

Gold let his head thud against the floor, licking dry lips as his heart thumped hard in his chest. The pleasure was dissipating, draining out of him and leaving him somehow cold and hollow, and he tried to slow his breathing, to calm himself. Belle pulled up off him, not meeting his eyes, and he watched as she got to her feet and backed away, tugging her nightshirt down before stumbling to the bathroom.

Gold sighed heavily, running his hands over his face, his fingers still sticky, heady with the scent of her. His cane lay some distance off, so he crawled over to it and used it to push himself to his feet. He straightened his clothing, rolling his sleeves back down, fastening his cufflinks and pulling on his jacket again. Replacing his armour, his protective layers, his shield against the world. He had been a fool to ever let it go. He had been a fool to touch her.

He felt better when he was fully dressed, and zipped his fly, buckling his belt as he heard the toilet flush and water running in the sink. His skin was still tingling from his orgasm, from the thrill of being inside her, the taste of her in his mouth. Straightening the knot of his tie, he licked his lips as he tried to calm his heavy breathing, and looked around as the bathroom door opened.

Belle was a little flushed, her dark curls awry, the scent of herbal soap coming from her and the robe wrapped tight around her once more. There was a dark bruise on her pale neck where he had bitten her, and it made guilt gnaw at him, even as he felt the matching bite on his own neck, just above his collar. She wouldn’t look at him, and he cleared his throat, tugging his cuffs straight and gripping his cane hard.

“I’m - ah - I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Belle finally turned to face him, putting her fists on her hips.

“What, like I didn’t make the first move?” she said, her tone dry. “You think I have no will of my own, is that it? I suppose this was yet another encounter in which you got to call all the shots, right?”

“No, of course not, it’s just—”

“Get out.”

Gold blinked, the coldness of her voice like a punch in the gut.

“Look,” he said calmly. “I realise we have a lot to talk about—”

“We do,” she agreed. “I just don’t want to do it now. I’m tired, I’m angry, and frankly, you’re making it all worse. Get out.”

He bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from snapping at her.

“Very well,” he said, his voice cool. “But given that we still need to have a conversation, I really think—”

“You have doubts about the fact you’re the father,” she interrupted, her tone impatient. “It’s fine, I get it. So I’ll take the test. Just tell me where to go and when, and I’ll do it.”

“Alright,” he said, “But—”

“And when you get the results and you’re satisfied that this baby is yours, we can talk, okay?” she went on. “Until then, leave me the hell alone, I don’t have the energy to deal with you.”

Gold felt his fingers drumming on the cane handle, and squeezed them together to hide his irritation at her constant interruptions.

“Can I at least accompany you to the doctor’s appointment?” he asked stiffly.

“What, so I can listen to your snide comments about how much of a slut I might have been and how crappy my life is?” she said thinly. “No. Since you’re so unsure whether you actually have any responsibility here, let’s wait until we get the test results.”

She stomped over to the door, and wrenched it open.

“Go back to Storybrooke,” she said. “I’ll see you in a week.”

Gold felt his jaw tighten, but nodded curtly, grabbing his coat and pulling it on. She wouldn’t look at him, and so he took his time about it, tugging the coat straight and brushing imaginary lint from the shoulders before sauntering to the door. 

“I’ll call you,” he said evenly, and she nodded, still not meeting his eyes.

He stepped into the corridor, and the door slammed behind him, leaving him in cold silence, the scent of her pleasure still on his fingers and the taste of her kiss on his lips.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: 39:"Everything is funny as long as it's happening to someone else"

Belle had expected to feel better after sending Gold away, but throwing him out and telling him not to contact her hadn’t felt as satisfying as she had predicted. She was still angry over his snide insinuations about her personal life, particularly as it had been he who had broken up with her. She also hated feeling as though she was out of control and dependent on him for a place to live and food in the cupboards, but she supposed she could get over that for the sake of the baby.

He had sent her a brief text message, with the address of the clinic where the blood test would be done, and the time that he would be there. That made it easier to avoid him entirely, but she still went through the next day with what felt like a ball of acid in her stomach, nervous that he was still in Boston. It was a relief to meet with Emma after class, the two of them huddling in a corner booth at the coffee shop with a sticky brownie cut in half on a plate between them.

“Well,” said Emma. “You look as though you’re ready to chew through rocks, so I’m guessing the meeting with your ex went about as well as could be expected.”

“He wants a paternity test,” said Belle, and Emma sucked air in over her teeth with a whistling sound.

“He’s got balls, I’ll give him that,” she remarked. “Does he think you got serious with someone else and forgot to mention it?”

“Not exactly,” said Belle. “He says he knows nothing about my life and for all he knows I could have been fucking half of Boston.”

Emma’s eyes widened.

“So what happened?” she asked. “You know, after you punched him in the face?”

“Oh, believe me, I was tempted,” said Belle dryly. “Yeah, there was - there was some yelling. He was pretty pissed off that I waited five months to tell him, and I was pretty pissed off about him just - just _ living and breathing, _really, and so we yelled at each other and nothing got resolved. I threw him out, told him to come back in a week.”

She sipped at her chocolate, and Emma gave her a long, calculating look.

“Uh-huh.” She swept a finger through the chocolate-dusted foam on her cappuccino and sucked it off, her eyes not leaving Belle’s. “You had sex with him, didn’t you?”

Belle opened her mouth to protest, but then winced, wrinkling her nose.

“Little bit.”

“Belle…”

“I know, I know!” 

She put her cup down, sitting back with a sigh.

“I just - I wanted to be the one calling the shots, for once,” she said. “I wanted to be the one in control.”

“By sleeping with him?”

“By - by using him and then kicking him out, maybe?” Belle pulled a face. “I don’t know. It’s not like I was thinking it through. I wanted to take some action for a change instead of just letting things - happen to me.”

“I get that.”

“Although maybe not,” added Belle thoughtfully. “Maybe I just wanted an orgasm.”

Emma burst out laughing, and after a moment Belle joined in, blushing a little.

“God, at least tell me he was good,” said Emma, chuckling.

“Oh, he’s always good.”

“That bastard.”

“Yup.”

Emma took a sip of her coffee, eyeing Belle thoughtfully.

“Do you want to get back with him?” she asked.

“No,” said Belle. “No, I know that’s not a good idea.”

“Not what I asked.”

Belle hesitated, fingers tapping on the side of her mug.

“I don’t want to get back with him,” she said. “And - and even if I did, he wouldn’t want _ me_. He pretty much admitted that the reason he broke up with me was the fact that he’d started to feel something for me and couldn’t face it.”

“He _ said _that?”

“No,” admitted Belle. “No, but I said it, and he didn’t deny it.”

“Of all the shitty, cowardly…”

“Yeah, so I told him.” Belle scowled at the memory. “How could I even think about trying to make a go of things with him after that?”

“Screw him,” said Emma, with feeling. “Oh, I don’t mean physically. Guess you already did that.”

“You’re _ hilarious_.”

She snickered, winking at Belle as she reached for her piece of brownie, and taking a bite.

“So you definitely don’t want to try to make it work?” she said, her voice a little muffled. “Banging him’s probably not the best way to let him know that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Belle slumped forwards, huffing air through her lips. “I guess I just have to tell him that. Come to think of it, it might actually make him loosen up a little. He’s probably thinking I want to start over because of the baby. Maybe that’s why he’s being such a _ jerk_.”

“Commitment-phobes are the _ worst_,” said Emma.

“Well, going forward he just needs to be committed to our baby,” said Belle. “It looks like he wants to do that, at least. Even if its mother wasn’t worth it.”

She felt a little gloomy at the thought, and Emma sat forward, reaching for her hand.

“Don’t tell yourself you’re not worth it, even when you’re throwing shade at an asshole,” she said firmly. “You’re worth everything, got it? No one puts my friends down. Not even my friends.”

Belle couldn’t help smiling, and squeezed Emma’s hand.

“I’ll try to be less of a bitch to myself,” she promised. 

“Good.” Emma sat back. “Save it for your baby daddy.”

* * *

Gold had stomped back to his hotel after leaving Belle’s apartment in high dudgeon, not even responding when Marco called a cheery good evening to him. He told himself it was her attitude, her refusal to let him get a complete sentence out. It took a couple of whiskies and an hour or so of lying sleeplessly in bed with his arms behind his head to make him admit that he had felt used by her. Used, cast aside and discarded. It was unpleasant, and not a position he was used to being in. At least not for many years. There was a tiny, snide voice whispering at the back of his brain that it was only fair, given how he had ended things with her, but he tried to ignore that. 

He drifted in and out of sleep, and was grainy-eyed and weary the next morning, drinking three cups of coffee before he left the hotel to head to the clinic where the blood samples for the paternity test would be taken. Low-level anxiety pricked at his skin as he wondered at every moment whether he would bump into Belle, but he remembered that she had to attend class. It was probably best that they didn’t interact further until the test results were received. She had been right about that.

He gave his own sample, spent the rest of the morning making some calls and dealing with some business matters, then went to see his lawyer around one. She walked into the reception just as he was asking if she was available, slim hips swaying as she sent him her usual lazy smile. Ella Deville was tall, slender and elegant, with white-blonde hair in a jaw-length bob, pale skin and red lips. She wore a beautifully-tailored black suit with a white silk blouse, long white gold earrings dangling from her ears, and very high, very narrow black heels.

_ “Darling!” _ she drawled. She took his hand and kissed him on both cheeks, a cloud of Chanel No 5 wafting over him. “How _ are _you?”

“Shite,” he said, with feeling, and she stepped back, looking him over.

“Well, you certainly don’t look it,” she remarked. “May I say I _ adore _the new haircut? Suits you.”

“Thank you,” he said absently. “Look, I hadn’t made an appointment…”

“Say no more!” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “I was planning on taking the afternoon off anyway, and you’ve arrived just in time to treat me to lunch. Let’s go to _ Aurora’s _ and get absolutely _ wankered_.”

Gold couldn’t help grinning at that, and offered her his arm.

“M’lady?”

* * *

_Aurora’s _ was a small bar and restaurant tucked on a side street a short distance from Ella’s office. It was pleasantly warm after the frigid March air, and Gold and Ella took one of the booths in the bar, sliding into squashy leather seats and ordering a bottle of wine and a plate of bread, cheese and olives. They made short work of the wine as Ella chatted about work, her ongoing feud with one of the partners, and her girlfriend Ursula, whom she had been dating for six months or so. Gold was grateful for the distraction; it was almost a relief to know that there were people in the world who could form and maintain healthy relationships.

“So anyway, long story short, things are getting serious, and I couldn’t be happier,” she finished, and took a slurp of her wine.

“I’m happy for you,” he said honestly. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“You may well do so, if the mother of your child wants to make things difficult.”

“We don’t know it’s my child,” he said, aware that he sounded petulant.

Ella eyed him as she took another drink, lips pursed, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“Bottle’s almost done,” she said abruptly. “I thought I might have a gin.”

Gold was already getting a pleasant buzz from the wine he had drunk, but he was feeling reckless. It wasn’t as though he had anywhere else to be that day.

“Oh, go on then,” he said, and she raised a hand to attract the attention of the waitress. 

“So,” she said, slumping back in her seat. “Tell me all about this gorgeous creature that you never saw fit to introduce me to despite the fact that she lives right here in Boston.”

“She was living in Storybrooke at the time we started seeing each other,” he said, sitting forward and pouring the last of the wine into their glasses. “She’s here because she’s studying. Master’s in library science, or at least that was her plan.”

“You corrupted a _ librarian_?” She snorted. “Yes, you would. Although I daresay it’s always the quietest ones with the dirtiest minds. Reading broadens one's horizons, I've always said so.”

He gave her a very level look, which made her giggle.

“I gave my blood sample,” he said. “Hopefully she’s given hers by now.”

“Results should be back soon,” she said. “Worried?”

“A little,” he admitted. “It’s not that I don’t believe her, but until it’s confirmed…” He shrugged, and Ella sniffed.

“In my line of work, cynicism is a requirement,” she said. “Still, I’m sure the lovely Miss French is a paragon of virtue. Or at least was until she met you.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“I just call things as I see them,” she said lightly. “How old is she?”

“Twenty three.”

Ella snorted.

“Dirty boy!” she said. “I’d tell you to be ashamed of yourself, but we all know that’s about as likely as hell freezing over.”

“Am I paying for this personal abuse as well as the bloody drinks?” he said waspishly.

“You enjoy my honesty, remember?” she said. “‘Refreshing’ you called me at our first meeting.”

“That’s because you said I was an arrogant wanker with all the charm of a bulging haemorrhoid.”

“And I spoke the truth.”

Gold chuffed in amusement, draining the last of his wine and pushing the empty glass into the middle of the table.

“Quite how you managed to shag such a pretty young thing is beyond me,” she added. “I take it she _ is _pretty? You always did have an eye for beautiful things.”

“Yes, she’s beautiful,” he said wryly. “Brown hair, beautiful blue eyes... With any luck the child will be all her, and none of me.”

“Oh, stop moping,” she said, shoving him affectionately. “Doesn’t suit you. You’re really quite attractive, you know. For a man.”

He pulled a face at her, making her chuckle. The waitress returned with their drinks, and Gold took a swallow of his. The taste of gin was very strong, and he gave up on the idea of accomplishing anything worthwhile for the rest of the day.

“Anyway, how she looks is irrelevant,” he said. “We broke up. She left. That was it. Thought I’d never see her again.”

“How long were you together?”

“We weren’t _ together_,” sighed Gold wearily, running a hand through his hair. “Not properly, anyway.”

“Really?” she raised an eyebrow, looking unconvinced, and popped an olive into her mouth. “Seems to me like there must have been something there.”

“Well, there wasn’t,” he said moodily, reaching for a piece of cheese. “It was just - fucking.”

“Was that your choice, or hers?”

“I don’t know…” Gold shoved away the memory of her smiling up at him, fingers stroking through his hair as she whispered that she loved him. “Both, I suppose. She didn’t want her father finding out. Or her friends. Or anyone, really.”

“Oh, so you were her dirty little secret?” she said, winking at him. “My, that must have stung.”

He felt his jaw clench.

“I was perfectly content with the arrangement.”

Ella sniffed.

“Keep telling yourself that, darling. Perhaps one day you’ll believe it.”

“I was!” he insisted, grabbing his drink and making gin and tonic slosh, ice cubes clinking. “It was fun for a while, but it’s not like it was ever going to last.”

“Why not?”

“Because she was moving to Boston.”

“It’s not the other side of the world.”

“And - and because it was time,” he added. “It was time to end it.”

Ella gave him a long look, sucking gin and tonic through a straw and smacking her lips when she was done.

“So you ended things,” she said. “Your idea or hers?”

“Mine.”

“And from what I gleaned from our previous discussion, you were an absolute cockwomble about the whole thing.”

“I wouldn’t use that exact word…”

“So my question is why,” she said, crossing her legs and swinging one foot. He blinked.

“Why?”

“Yes, why,” she said impatiently. “Did she cheat?”

“What?” he said, bewildered. “No!”

“Did _ you _cheat?”

_ “No!” _

“Then what was it?” she asked. “Why employ the scorched earth tactics on this relationship? And don’t tell me you didn’t; I remember the Sullivan deal, and I’ve seen what a vicious little shit you can be when you choose.”

Gold had opened his mouth to protest, but inclined his head.

“Alright, fine,” he muttered. “I was an utter bastard. Happy?”

“Not especially. It’s not as though you’re telling me anything I didn’t already know.”

He gave her a flat look.

“You think this is funny.”

“Oh, you know me, darling,” she said carelessly, waving a hand. “Everything is funny as long as it's happening to someone else.”

“Thanks for your concern.”

“But I _ am _concerned!” she insisted, sitting forward and squeezing his hand. “That’s why I’m asking you why you did it. You were dating a young and beautiful woman who seemed to care about you. Why press the self-destruct button?”

Gold took a drink to play for time, but when he put down his glass she was waiting expectantly.

“Can we talk about something else?” he asked. “I think I’m too drunk to be having this conversation.”

“Fine,” she sighed, sitting back. “Just promise me you’ll think about it.”

Gold privately thought he would rather eat broken glass than dwell on his actions of seven months ago, but he said nothing. Ella took a drink and he sat back, slumping a little in the seat as he felt his body grow warm and loose with the alcohol.

“Moving on, then,” she said. “How did your conversation about the future arrangements go?”

“It didn’t,” he said heavily. “We argued, and she threw me out. Told me not to come back until we got the rest results.”

“Hmm.” There was a gleam in her eyes as she stirred her drink. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that there was some frenzied and inappropriate shagging before this took place.”

Gold sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Look, can we stay on topic here?” he asked, and she chortled, wriggling in her seat.

“I _ knew _it!”

“It was a moment of stupidity for both of us,” he said, not bothering to deny it. “I just think it was - a misguided attempt to ease the tension.”

“Well, having sex _ is _the best way to deal with sexual tension…”

“There’s no sexual tension,” he snapped. “Just - just anger and resentment, that’s all.”

“Unsurprising, in the circumstances.”

“Yes.” He took a slurp of gin. “I’m well aware we need to be on better terms in the future, but she’s - very hostile.”

“Do you blame her?” said Ella. “If I were in her position I’d probably be the same.”

“I daresay you’d have the sense to accept help when it was offered.”

She shook her head, earrings swinging as she reached for her glass.

“Do you want a woman’s perspective here?”

“I imagine I’m about to get one, regardless,” he remarked, and she took a drink, setting down her glass, and fixing him with a flat stare.

“She’s twenty three, pregnant, single, still at college and probably feeling as though she has no future,” she said. “She’s terrified. Of _ course _she’s hostile.”

“I’ve already said I’ll pay for everything―”

“And she’s probably worried you’re going to swoop in and take the baby from her,” she added. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say you already bullied her into doing what you wanted with that threat, am I right?”

Gold shifted uncomfortably.

“The place she was living was a fucking death trap.”

“So that’s a yes, then.” She sat back. “No wonder she’s snapping at you. You have her backed into a corner. Her only option is attack.”

“Are you saying I should let her go back to that fleapit I took her out of?” he demanded.

“No,” she said patiently. “I’m saying you should forget about your own anger over this situation and try for some calm reassurance. Alright, so she didn’t tell you she was pregnant. Now you know. Get over yourself and start thinking about her and the baby.”

“I _ am_!” he protested.

“And aim for supportive rather than sarcastic at your next meeting.”

Gold glowered at her, but nodded an acknowledgement.

“Right,” she said. “Since I’ve definitely slipped from lawyer-mode into friend-mode, what do you say we get another round in?”

Gold peered at the last of his gin, and shrugged.

“Alright,” he sighed. “It’s not as though I planned on driving back to Storybrooke until tomorrow. Another round it is.”

"Oh, so you're going home?"

"Until we have the test results, yes," he said sourly. "I have a few things I need to attend to."

"Like what?"

Gold gave her a wintry smile.

"I thought I might visit the florist."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ripperblackstaff prompted: "Burn in hell for all I care!"

Gold left it until the following afternoon before driving back to Maine. Ella had insisted on spending the rest of the afternoon in the bar, and he was somewhat worse for wear when he woke up the next morning, his head thumping and his mouth as dry as dust. He wondered how Belle was doing, and how she was finding the apartment. Whether she had discovered the little cafe around the corner that did delicious apple _ tarte tatin_. Whether she was as nervous about the test results as he.

By the time he reached Storybrooke, it was dark and cold, the few residents that were out hurrying along the streets with their chins shoved into their scarves. The florist’s shop was closed, and Gold eyed it before driving past. No point in visiting before he knew the test results, he supposed. He wondered if Belle had told Moe he was the father, and what Moe’s reaction had been if so. Certainly Moe hadn’t mentioned it to him when he had asked for Belle’s address, so perhaps Belle had let him think that the father was whoever this boyfriend of hers was. Scared as she was, he supposed he couldn’t blame her for that. Moe French had been angry enough that Gold had been sleeping with his daughter. Somehow he doubted that the news the two of them had made a child would be welcome.

It felt good to get back into his house, the rooms pleasantly warm, and he locked the door behind him, going to the lounge to pour himself a whisky and relax in one of the armchairs as he thought things over. Ella’s words had played over and over in his head since their somewhat drunken conversation in the bar, and after some initial indignant denial he had accepted that she was right. He had been too angry with Belle, both for failing to tell him about the baby and for putting herself and the child in danger, to really consider her perspective. The more he thought about it, though, the more he felt a grudging understanding and the first crawling fingers of guilt sliding over his skin. Perhaps Ella was right. Perhaps she felt cornered and scared, and was lashing out because of it. A sly voice at the back of his mind whispered that he should know what it was like to want to hurt the person trying to get too close, to want to drive them away. He smothered it ruthlessly, and turned his attention to more practical matters. Going to his computer, he prepared to go through the list of possible issues that Ella had sent through for him to consider. No harm in being prepared. Whatever the results were.

He buried himself in work for the next few days, spending his days at the shop, where he concentrated on his restoration of the music box. He had now taken apart the damaged mechanism, each element laid out on the chamois leather ready for cleaning and repair. The project was taking all of his concentration, which was exactly what he wanted, keeping his mind from straying to Belle and the baby. More importantly, it kept him from analysing his own feelings, a hopelessly tangled mess that he had screwed into a ball and shoved to the back of his mind long ago. Dealing with Belle had the effect of rooting through his brain, digging it out and threatening to unravel it. He was determined not to let that happen, and so he worked until he was too tired to keep his eyes open, and fell into bed each night exhausted.

It was halfway through the afternoon of the fifth day when it was confirmed that his life would change, and immeasurably for the better, in his opinion. A chime from his computer indicated that he had received an email, and he set down his tweezers and eyeglass, wiping his hands before going to the laptop. His heart began thumping hard as he saw the sender’s identity, and he glanced up at one of the shelves, where an old plush rabbit in a faded blue waistcoat sat, ears flopping over its black bead eyes. For a moment he was afraid to open the message, and closed his eyes, taking a deep, calming breath. _ Let it be real. Let it be me. _

He opened his eyes, his heart still thumping. His hands shook as he reached for the keyboard, and he clicked to open the message. Reading it over once made his heart rate quicken further, and so he read it twice more before sitting back with a sigh. It was true. He was to be a father again.

A smile broke, tears pricking at his eyes, and he pushed to his feet, grasping his cane before pulling on his overcoat and leaving the shop. He walked swiftly, the early spring sun shining down as he strode towards the park, his body humming with nervous energy as he tried to hold back from laughing out loud. A child! He had a child on the way. This one he would not lose. This one he would not fail.

He couldn’t stop grinning, quickening his pace as he began to make plans. A trust fund, for the future. For study, for travel. Medical insurance for Belle herself, to ensure that she got the best care leading up to and following the birth. The apartment, and the preparations they would need to make for the baby’s arrival. There was a lot to be discussed and agreed with Belle, of course, but surely she couldn’t object to the financial provisions he wanted to make. Surely she would want the best for their child, no matter how much it might hurt her pride to take it from him. He shook his head, determined to be everything this child could want in a father. It wouldn’t want for anything, he would make sure of that. And it would know how loved it was, by both its parents.

His phone buzzed, making him stop his pacing abruptly, and he reached into his pocket, fishing the phone out and glancing at the screen. His heart thumped harder as he recognised the number there. _ Belle. They would have sent her the results too, of course. Okay, try to be civil, you fucking idiot. She’s the mother of your child. Your _ child_. Don’t be a fucking prick, for once in your miserable life. _

“Hello?” he said, relieved that he sounded calmer than he felt.

“It’s me,” she said, her tone flat. “I got the results.”

“Right,” he said. “Yes. So did I.”

There was a moment of silence. He was unsure what to say, overwhelmed by the enormity of what she was giving him, of the glimmer of light he could sense breaking through the dark clouds that had lain heavy around his soul for so long. It was blinding. Breathtaking.

“Well?” she said impatiently, and Gold licked his lips, his mouth dry.

“Well what?” he said lamely, and she sighed.

“In news that would be a surprise to no one except apparently _ you_, the test was positive,” she snapped. “So, do I get an apology?”

Gold sucked his teeth, ignoring the crawling sense of guilt flowing up through his body. _ Why the hell did you accuse her of sleeping around? What the actual everloving _ fuck _ is wrong with you? _

“I’m waiting,” she said, a sarcastic edge to her voice. “Pretty sure that apology’s coming any time now. I mean we both know how well you deal with the truth when it’s right in bloody front of you, don’t we?”

Her tone made him bristle, and it was as though the clouds had covered the sun once more, a chill creeping over his flesh and numbing his soul. The light that had briefly flared to life inside him flickered and died, disappearing along with his good intentions. It was unfortunate that his natural response to hurt feelings was to be insufferable, but there again he had never claimed to be perfect.

“Fine,” he said, in a bored tone. “I’m really so terribly sorry that I sought a quick, painless and accurate confirmation that I am the father of the child you carry. It would of course have been much better to simply turn my life upside down and go to tremendous expense to provide for the two of you on your word alone, after all.”

There was a moment of silence.

“God, you’re an arsehole.”

“An arsehole who happens to be following the excellent legal advice he’s paying for,” he said, keeping to a lazy drawl. “My lawyer insists on the paternity results before we take any further steps. I’m merely complying with her recommendations.”

“Then why did you suggest I was fucking half of Boston?” she snapped. “Actually, no, don’t answer that, I know why. Because you can’t resist an opportunity to be bloody hurtful.”

That stung, largely because it was true, but he tried to ignore the sharp pain her words caused.

“Are we going to discuss something productive, or do you just want to yell at me again?” he asked mildly. “I apologise for suggesting you might have enjoyed yourself after we broke up. If that’s something to apologise for.”

“Well, thanks for that completely insincere pile of crap,” she said tartly. 

“You’re more than welcome.”

Belle huffed, and he rolled his eyes.

“Where are you?” she asked shortly.

“In Storybrooke,” he said. “Where you told me to be. Does that make you feel better?”

“I think we need to have a conversation,” she said. “Face to face, if you can stand it.”

“I agree,” he said coldly.

“So, when can you come to Boston?”

“Wouldn’t you rather come here?” he asked. “A pleasant weekend in Storybrooke? You could visit your father.”

Silence. Gold waited a moment, frowning a little.

“Your father _ does _know about the baby, doesn’t he?” he pressed.

“Of course he does!”

“And you’re not eager to see him? Why is that?”

More silence. His frown deepened, a suspicion taking form in the depths of his brain. One that explained both Belle’s dreadful state when he had first visited, and her unwillingness to accept his help.

“Has he visited you at all since you told him?” he asked. “Has he given you any support? Sent you money, anything?”

“I think you wouldn’t be asking me this if you didn’t already know the answer,” she said stiffly. “If you want to talk about our child, come to Boston. If you want to play mind games, stay in Storybrooke and continue your stupid feud with my dad. At this point I don’t care either way.”

“Belle—”

“I mean it!” she said sharply. “I’m a thousand percent done with your shit! _ Both _of you! Burn in hell for all I care!”

“Belle!"

She hung up with a click, and Gold swore under his breath, shoving the phone back in his pocket and running a hand over his face. So. All that time she hadn’t had a single ounce of help from her father. From the one person who should support her unconditionally. _ Let’s see what Moe French has to say for himself. _

He squared his jaw, turning swiftly on his heel to head towards _ Game of Thorns_, and collided with someone almost immediately. Dr Hopper staggered, clutching at his arm to steady himself and almost losing his tweed cap in the process. He stepped back, tugging it down over his red hair while his Dalmatian, Pongo, watched placidly at his side.

“Excuse me,” muttered Gold, trying to keep from snapping at the man.

“No harm done,” said Dr Hopper, his brow crinkling a little. “Mr Gold, are you - are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said evenly. “Couldn’t be better, I assure you.”

“Oh, that’s - that’s great!” said Dr Hopper earnestly. “Although - if you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t look fine.”

Gold raised his head, fixing him with a flat stare.

“Thank you for that diagnosis, Dr Hopper,” he said coldly. “When I’m seeking interference in my personal affairs, I’ll be sure to let you know. Perhaps you’d be good enough to mind your own business in the meantime.”

Dr Hopper simply smiled pleasantly. Whatever it was that he took to remain calm and unruffled in the face of open hostility, Gold wanted to know. 

“Well, the offer’s always there,” he said. “If you ever feel the need to talk things through, my door is always open.”

He nodded politely, and set off down the street, umbrella swinging from his hand. Gold glared after him.

“The only time I’ll be knocking on your door is to collect the bloody rent!” he called, and Dr Hopper glanced over his shoulder with a nod and a smile, as though he’d wished him a good afternoon.

Muttering under his breath about exactly where Dr Hopper could shove his office door, Gold stomped off up the street towards the florist’s shop. Moe French was inside, sweeping up dropped leaves and scraps of coloured ribbon, and he scowled at Gold, working the broom a little quicker.

“I’ll bring the rent over later,” he said curtly.

“I won’t be there,” said Gold. “I'll send Mr Dove to collect in my absence. I’m heading to Boston.”

Moe straightened up and grounded the broom, his eyes narrowing.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes,” said Gold, his voice as menacingly calm as he could make it. “I’m going to see Belle. To lay claim to my child. She's carrying my baby, and it's due in May. Funny that all these months I’ve been collecting rent from you, you never thought to mention it.”

Moe glowered at him.

“So,” he said. “She told you.”

Gold felt his mouth flatten.

“Eventually,” he said. “Frankly I would have preferred to have more than a couple of months to make preparations, but we are where we are. You may be interested to know that I’ve moved her out of the squalid mess of an apartment she was in and into one of my own. I can give you the address.”

“I’ll hear it from her, not you,” said Moe ungraciously.

“Suit yourself,” said Gold. “It’s just that I was under the impression that the two of you aren’t exactly on the best of terms. Why is that?”

“My relationship with my daughter is _ my business_!” snapped Moe. “And I don’t want you anywhere near her.”

“Well, the imminent arrival of our baby makes that impossible,” said Gold dryly.

"Am I supposed to believe you suddenly have an overwhelming need to be a parent?" Moe snorted. "Give me a break!"

It took a lot of effort not to threaten to break every bone in his body, but Gold managed not to snap back at him.

“Believe it or not, I'm not actually here to argue with you," he said. "I'm here because she's alone and scared, and she needs her family. Useless as you are, you're all she's got. So spare me your bluster, I’m really more interested in why you saw fit to abandon her.”

“You’re here to lecture me on how I treated Belle?” scoffed Moe. “You’ve got a bloody nerve!”

Gold showed his teeth, fingers opening and closing on the cane handle.

“Oh, I’m well aware of my failings, Mr French,” he said. “When I broke up with her I made damn sure she wouldn’t want to see me again. With your encouragement, I might add."

"Breaking up with her is the first decent thing you did!"

"Well, you could be right about that," he acknowledged. "However, because of the - manner - of our break up, I suspect that my relationship with Belle will never be anything more than coldly indifferent. But honestly I’m not sure if I’m capable of anything more than that.”

“And that’s what the kid has to look forward to, is it?”

“No,” said Gold evenly. “My child will know it’s wanted, I assure you. By both its parents.”

Moe curled his lip.

“Like hell,” he said. “I know I’m a piss-poor father, but I’m willing to bet I did a better job than you ever would. You were a bastard to Belle and you’ll be just as bad to any of your bloody spawn, I reckon.”

Gold took a step forward, fury welling up inside him. It must have shown in his face, in his eyes, because Moe took a step back, looking wary. Gold clutched at the cane handle, knuckles white with the effort of not cracking him over the head with it.

“Our child will know its father,” he said, through his teeth. “It will never want for anything as long as I live and breathe. If you were anything approaching a decent parent you would understand that, but I suspect Belle got all her most admirable qualities from her mother.”

“Don’t you _ dare _mention my wife!” snapped Moe, eyes bulging. “If she were here, she’d—”

“If she were here, I suspect I wouldn’t have had to pull Belle out of an apartment block that should have been demolished years ago!”

“Oh, so you’re suddenly a white fucking knight, are you?” Moe sneered. “Yeah, that’s about the size of it. You waltz on in with your money and think it can buy you whatever you want, when really you’re the same heartless bastard you’ve always been.”

“Is that any worse than what you can offer?” demanded Gold. “Cutting her off when she needed you the most? You’d rather your own daughter and grandchild suffered because she had the poor bloody judgement to sleep with me?”

“It’s not like I was never gonna speak to her again!” said Moe defensively.

“No, you’d just let her struggle through the trauma of pregnancy and birth and turn up when the child was two or something,” said Gold sarcastically. “Or maybe you’re waiting until that heart attack you’ve been working towards actually hits, so you can guilt her into looking after you.”

Moe seemed to swell with rage, a tide of red sweeping up from his neck.

“Get the fuck out of my shop!” he barked, gesturing to the door. "Go on! I won't have you judging me when you're the one that broke her heart!"

Gold took a step back before he could really lose his temper, and shook his head disgustedly.

“I hoped you might be able to see past your hatred of me and concentrate on what’s best for Belle,” he said. "God knows she needs someone in her life to do that."

“I’m not taking lectures from the likes of you!” snapped Moe. "I'll deal with _my _daughter in _my _way, got it?"

Gold sent him a twisted smile.

"Well, in the meantime, I'll just have to do my best to give her what she needs," he said. "Whatever that may be."

“You stay away from her!”

"Make me," said Gold bluntly.

He turned on his heel, stalking towards the door.

“You have no place in her life, don’t you get that?" Moe shouted after him. You’ll never be anything to that kid but the guy who buys McDonalds twice a month!”

Gold slammed the shop door behind him, cutting off Moe’s voice, and took several deep breaths to calm himself before setting off down the street at a brisk pace, his nostrils flaring, skin humming with rage. _He shut her out. He had her love, and he shut her out. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: "13: I'm sick of being alone all the damn time"

Belle was willing herself not to cry the moment she hung up on Gold, and for the most part she succeeded. It helped to turn off her phone in case he called back, shoving it into her bag and stomping off home. She had worked the early shift at the diner, waiting tables until her feet ached enough to match her back, and the father of her child being a cold-hearted bastard was the final straw. It was raining again, and so she took the bus for part of the journey home. Emma was due to come over for a couple of hours of study, and she wanted more than five minutes to herself before then.

A job that was closer to the apartment would be better, of course, but there again it was unlikely that she would be working for much longer, as much as she hated to admit it. Her meagre stash of money was making her nervous, and she hoped that Gold was serious about helping out. She already had no clue how she would buy the baby everything it needed, although Emma had offered her some of Henry’s old things. It seemed as though her life was nothing but endless worrying about bills, childbirth and college, and she tried to remember how free she had felt before she had returned to Storybrooke two summers ago. Before she was pregnant by a man who cared nothing for her. Surely life had been easier then.

The bus stopped two blocks from her apartment, and so she ducked into a small grocery store to pick up some milk and a packet of cookies. There was no time to have a shower before Emma arrived, as much as she wanted one, but she could make hot chocolate to warm them up. She wanted to dust it with cinnamon and drink it from the large mugs that Gold kept in the cupboards of the apartment that wasn’t really hers. She wanted to eat cookies and wrap herself in a comforting blanket of heat and spice and sugar, looking out over the rain-drenched city. 

Marco greeted her cheerfully when she entered the apartment block, and she smiled as she responded. He was a pleasant man, a widower with an adult son that she hadn’t met. She wondered what he thought about Gold bringing her there, but he was certainly too polite to ask her. Just as well, she supposed; she was unsure how to respond.

It was a relief to get into the apartment, and to strip off the leggings and shirt she had worn to work and change them for thick tights and a soft woollen dress. She eyed her round belly in the mirror, turning this way and that. Thus far her pregnancy was fairly compact, at least compared to other pregnant women she had seen, but there again she and Gold were both fairly compact people. Nevertheless, her belly seemed to be expanding by the day, and she hoped the maternity clothes she had bought would continue to stretch with it.

She was just tying her hair up in a bun when there was a knock at the door, and she hurried to answer it, bobby pins still sticking out of her mouth.

“Hey,” said Emma, sounding harassed. Raindrops clung to the shoulders of her coat and the beanie hat she wore. “I brought bear claws, library books and a fuck-ton of stress and self-doubt. Ready to study?”

Belle grinned, closing the door behind her and sliding the bobby pins into her hair.

“I’ll make some hot chocolate,” she said.

* * *

Three hours later, her eyes were stinging from the concentration, and she closed her book with a thump, sitting back in her chair. Emma mirrored her, yawning as she did so.

“Okay, I’m done,” she said tiredly. “Neal’s gonna be here soon. You get what you wanted out of that?”

Belle wrinkled her nose at her notes.

“I think I need another couple of hours,” she said. “I’ve done the reading and taken notes, and I’ve got the paper outline down, I just need to flesh it out. It’s not due until Tuesday, so I’ve got time.”

“Had any thoughts about how long you’ll keep going for?” asked Emma, and Belle pulled a face.

“As long as I can, I guess,” she said. “The more credits I get under my belt now, the less I have to worry about getting when I have a baby to care for.”

“Yeah, it was the crappy sleep that really killed me,” said Emma. “You think you’re done for the night, and then the kid decides three a.m. is a great time to party.”

“That doesn’t last forever though, right?”

“Right,” said Emma. “Although Henry was never one to sleep through. At least when Neal came back we could take it in turns. Trying to do everything yourself is - well, it’s hard. Take it from me.”

“I think I’m gonna be living on caffeine,” said Belle gloomily.

"I'll be sure to bring some over when I drop off Henry's old stuff," said Emma, with a grin. "You'll be okay. You're like the most competent person I know, you got this."

“Guess I won't have much choice,” said Belle.

“Guess not.” Emma picked up her books, stacking one on top of the other. “Any word from your ex?”

“What, since I told him to burn in hell, you mean?” asked Belle dryly. “No. Pretty sure he’ll be here tomorrow, though. I’m not sure I have the energy to deal with him.”

"Was he always like that?" asked Emma, and Belle shook her head.

"No," she said. "No, he was - I mean he was always closed off, don't get me wrong. He never let me get close, but we could talk for hours about books and music and food - anything that was impersonal, I guess. And he was - he was _interesting_, and well-mannered, and polite, and he _listened_, you know? He'd listen to me talk about my studies, and what I wanted to do in life, and he'd encourage me, not try to bring me down by telling me that I read too much, or that I _thought _too much. It was nice."

"And then?"

"And then I told him I loved him," said Belle sadly. "And he pushed me away."

"Screw him!"

"That's kind of how I ended up in this mess," said Belle dryly, and they both chuckled.

“But he knows the baby’s his, right?” said Emma. “I mean he has _ proof _now. Maybe he’ll stop being such an ass.”

“Maybe.” Belle sighed, running her hands over her face. “Maybe he won’t say something so offensive I want to punch him in the face. Maybe he was actually in Storybrooke getting a personality transplant.”

Emma snickered.

“What did he say that made you chew him out?” she asked, and Belle scowled.

“He’d _clearly_ been to see my dad,” she said. “So he knew we weren’t speaking, and he was pretending not to know, wanting me to say it, to admit my dad didn’t want anything to do with me. I wasn’t in the mood to be manipulated.”

“Has your dad been in touch?” asked Emma. “Like at all?”

Belle shook her head, and Emma made an angry noise on her behalf.

“You think they had words?”

“I don’t know,” she said, with a shrug. “Guess Alex’ll tell me when I see him.”

She was subdued, fingers twitching on the plastic cover of the textbook, and Emma reached out to squeeze her hand.

"Men suck."

"Oh yeah," said Belle, with feeling. "And believe me, that last thing I want is a relationship right now, but I'm sick of being alone all the damn time. I never thought Dad would cut me off _completely_. I mean I knew he was mad I decided to keep the baby, but even so..."

“I’m sure your dad’ll come around,” Emma added. “Maybe when the baby’s born.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Belle wasn’t sure if she believed it, but a knock at the door pulled her out of her doleful mood, and she pushed to her feet.

“That’ll be Neal,” said Emma. “I’ll put my stuff away. You want a hand clearing up?”

“Nah,” Belle called over her shoulder. “I’ll do it later.”

She opened the door, smiling as she was greeted by Neal and Henry. Both of them were bundled up against the cold, scarves wrapped around their necks and raindrops clinging to their coats. They had identical brown eyes and ready smiles. At eight years old, Henry was bright and curious, an avid reader with a vivid imagination, and a love of cookies and bagels to rival Emma's own.

“Hey Belle!” he said. “I brought my book! Can I read you another story?”

“Sure!” she said. “You guys look like you could use a hot drink, am I right?”

“I’d kill for a coffee,” said Neal, steering Henry into the apartment by his shoulders. “We should have brought something sweet, right buddy?”

“I _ said _we should bring cookies,” said Henry reprovingly, and Belle grinned.

“I have cookies,” she assured them. “Go on through to the kitchen, Emma’s just clearing up.”

“Thanks. Man, this place is _ nice_.” Neal stopped, looking around himself as he shrugged out of his coat. “This whole apartment is yours?”

“Well, for the moment,” said Belle. “It belongs to Alex. He’s letting me stay, that’s all.”

“Beats the old place."

“Guess that wasn’t hard,” said Belle dryly.

“So, what’s he gonna do when the baby’s born?” asked Neal, following her through to the kitchen. “Move to Boston?”

“I don’t know,” she said, after a pause. “We haven’t discussed it. I mean, he has a whole business in Storybrooke. He owns most of the property there, and he has an antique shop that he runs. It’s not like he can just - not do that.”

“Guess he has enough money that he can do what he wants,” said Neal. “Does he _ want _to be involved with the baby?”

“I - I think so,” she said slowly, getting out clean cups. “From what he says. I don’t know what that means, or how often he’ll want to see the baby, but it’s not like he’s not interested.”

“Well, that has to be a positive, right?” said Emma. “I mean it’s not like he’s just gonna throw money at you and never see the kid.”

“I don’t know,” she said wearily. “If we could be civil to each other for more than five seconds maybe we could work something out.”

“He have family?” asked Neal, and Belle hesitated, hands on the coffee maker.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “He’s never mentioned any, but then he never talked about _ anything _personal, so who knows?”

“Well, he’ll have one soon,” said Emma, winking at her. “Whether he wants one or not.”

“He’ll have a _ child_,” said Belle. “I doubt he’ll ever see me as anything more than its mother.”

* * *

After leaving a message for Ella with the test results and some instructions, Gold had booked a hotel in Boston, packed a case and set off on the long drive from Storybrooke. He gave himself a damn good lecture on the way down. Moe French turning his back on his daughter had been unexpected, and he wanted to kick himself for not seeing it, for not figuring it out from the desperate state he had found her in. He wondered how long Belle had been struggling alone. Whether she had had anyone else to turn to. A friend? A lover? Anyone? He would have to try to be there for her now, as ineffective and unhelpful as that would likely be. At least he could take away any financial worries she might have. He may have been a disaster at romantic relationships, but throwing money at a problem until it went away was one thing he excelled at. 

He muttered under his breath as he parked the car, walking with a swift, limping stride to her apartment building and giving Marco a brief greeting. Belle didn’t just need money. She needed reassurance that he was going to share in the baby’s life, that he would take some of the burden of care. And they needed to be on good terms, which meant that one of them would have to bend in the face of the other’s hostility. He supposed that person really ought to be him, given that this entire situation was his fault. He tried to keep that in mind as he took the elevator up to the fifth floor and knocked on Belle’s door. 

He could hear a murmur of voices inside the apartment, and his eyes narrowed as he tried to make them out. The door was wrenched open, spilling warm light out into the corridor, and Gold came face to face with a man in his late twenties, dressed in jeans and boots beneath a pale blue shirt, open at the neck. He was running a hand through short dark hair, brown eyes eyeing Gold cautiously. 

“Yeah?” he said, and Gold raised his chin.

“Good evening,” he said. “Is Belle French here?”

“Who wants to know?” asked the man, and Gold gave him a flat stare.

“Alexander Gold,” he said coldly. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”

The man’s eyes widened.

“Oh, you’re _ him_,” he said, and glanced over his shoulder. “Belle? Baby-daddy’s on your doorstep!”

Gold bristled, and squeezed the handle of his cane to calm himself. The man looked him up and down insolently, and just then Belle hurried to his side, a little breathless. Strands of dark hair were curling around her neck from the loose bun she wore, and her cheeks were flushed. The man stepped away, letting her fill the space in the doorway he had left.

“What are you doing here?” asked Belle, and Gold examined his fingernails.

“You said we needed a discussion,” he said, and she looked vexed.

“Yeah, but we didn’t agree _ when_.”

“Well, you hung up on me before we could agree on anything,” he said evenly. “So here I am.”

“You want to do it _ now_?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I getting in the way of a pressing engagement?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he wanted to kick himself in the shins, but Belle merely rolled her eyes.

“Fine, come in,” she sighed, and held open the door.

Gold stepped into the apartment, and she closed the door behind him. He was surprised to see a young woman, long blonde hair curling down her back, one hand on the shoulder of a boy of around eight or nine. His brown eyes matched those of the man who had answered the door, and Gold felt himself relax a little. _ So. Not a boyfriend. Just a friend. Why are you even fixating on this, you moron? Get a fucking grip! _

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said, trying to ignore the fact that they were all staring at him as though he was a museum exhibit.

“Oh, we were just going,” said the woman carelessly. “Belle, come over for dinner next week, okay?”

“I’d love to,” said Belle. “Don’t forget your book, Henry.”

Gold watched as the young boy—Henry—snatched up a large hardback book from the couch. His parents helped him on with his coat, the book making the process more complicated than it had to be. Henry was eyeing him curiously. 

“Are you Mr Gold?” he piped up, when his mother had wound a striped scarf around his neck. Gold smiled briefly.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes I am.”

“Mom said you helped Belle to make the baby.”

Gold couldn’t help grinning.

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” he said.

Henry’s father had put his face in his hands, which made Gold’s grin widen. Eyes flicking to Belle, he could see that she was tugging at her lip with her teeth, a troubled look on her face.

“Are you going to get married?” asked Henry.

“No,” said Belle abruptly, and Gold felt the smile slide from his face like water.

“Uh - not everyone who has babies gets married, kiddo,” said the mother awkwardly.

“But what if Belle gets sick when the baby gets older, and it wants to go on a field trip?” asked Henry seriously. “Who’s gonna sign the permission slip?”

“I’m going to help take care of the baby,” said Gold. “I can sign the permission slip.”

Henry’s face brightened, and he beamed. It made Gold smile again, and something tickled at the back of his mind. Almost like a memory.

“Okay, buddy, let’s go,” said his father, clapping him on the shoulder. “You got your book, right?”

“Yeah. Bye Mr Gold. Bye Belle.”

“Goodbye, Henry,” said Gold, and was rewarded with another smile.

He watched as Henry was steered towards the door by his parents.

“See you Monday, Belle,” said the mother.

“Sure, Emma,” said Belle. “Bye Neal. Bye Henry.”

“Bye!” called Henry, and the door closed.

Belle turned to face him, arms crossed protectively around herself. It drew attention to the curve of her belly and the swell of her breasts, and he thought how beautiful she looked carrying his child. She was eyeing him warily, eyes flicking up at him and away, her teeth tugging at her lower lip. Things had to get better between them. He had to try to _ make _them better.

“Sharp young lad,” he said, gesturing towards the door. “They seem a nice family.”

“Yeah, they are.” 

Silence, her words short and cut off abruptly, her gaze cast at the floor. She didn’t want to talk about her friends, didn’t want to let him into that part of her life. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. Feeling awkward, he lifted a hand, let it fall against his leg with a slap.

“Well, shall we get on with it?” he said. “I spoke with my lawyer. There are some questions I need to ask you. If you could answer me truthfully without biting my head off, it’ll probably go easier on us both.”

“Try asking without accusing me of something and I’ll do my best.”

Gold reminded himself that snapping at her would achieve nothing.

“Very well,” he said coolly. “Are you in a relationship? It makes no difference to me, but my lawyer wants to know if you’re seeing anyone, in case it’s going to complicate visitation arrangements.”

Belle let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through her hair.

“No, Alex, I’m not seeing anyone, okay?” she said. “I haven’t been seeing anyone for months.”

“So why didn’t you say that when I asked the first time?”

“I’m saying it now.”

He was silent, fragments of memory floating around in his mind and causing mischief. The sleek red car outside her father’s shop. The tall, muscle-bound man with the dark hair and the perfect smile. The way he had pulled Belle to him and kissed her possessively, as though he owned her. How long had they been together? Not long, if her ‘months’ statement was accurate. Belle was watching him, and suddenly smirked a little, her eyes gleaming.

“Come to think of it, that’s probably the reason I jumped you,” she said lightly. “Been kind of going through a dry spell recently. Did you know that being pregnant with someone else’s kid is a real turn-off for most guys?”

“You astonish me,” he said dryly, and she shrugged.

“Yeah, so I’ve been a little on edge,” she went on. “I guess I got what I wanted, so thanks. That’s all it was.”

“That’s all it was,” he echoed. “Right.”

“You’re not bad,” she added. “Not as good as I remember, but then I guess I’ve grown up a little, hmm? I mean, you’re a little selfish, but I suppose that’s to be expected.”

His hands tightened on the handle of his cane.

“If you’re trying to hurt me, you’re wasting your time.”

Belle barked a humourless laugh.

“Well, I know _ that_,” she said flatly. “You don’t feel anything, right?”

Gold felt his teeth clench.

“Are you done with being needlessly offensive?”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Please tell me what I’ve said that upset you since entering this apartment, and I’ll be sure to apologise.”

“It’s more the fact that you’re here at all.”

Gold bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from snapping out something hurtful, and after a moment Belle sighed and shook her head.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” she said. “I know we have a lot to discuss. I just - after last time, and our - mistake - I wanted to make sure we know where we stand, that’s all.”

“Right,” he said evenly.

“So - so I know you have zero interest in me beyond being the mother of your child, you’ve made that _ very _apparent,” she said. “And likewise I have zero interest in you beyond you being its father. I just wanted to make sure we were clear on that.”

He had been expecting it, but it still hurt. A sharp, stabbing pain just below his heart, a thin, hot lance sliding deep into his soul. He told himself it was no more than he deserved, and gave her his most wintry smile.

“Oh, we’re crystal clear,” he said softly. “You’re safe from me, Miss French.”

Belle sent him a flat look.

“Stop calling me that.”

“Very well.”

More silence. She was eyeing him warily, and he tried not to sigh in resignation. Her hostility hadn’t lessened, but it was early days.

“I believe we have things to discuss,” he said. “Shall we get on with it?”

Belle nodded, raising her chin.

“You’d better come through to the kitchen,” she said. “And if you plan on being civil for a change, I could even make some tea.”

Gold swallowed the biting retort he wanted to make.

“Tea would be lovely.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @virgidearie, @jackabelle and anonymous prompted: 45: "The worst part is, I loved you anyway"
> 
> I promise things will start to get better after this!

He felt awkward, standing in the kitchen of the apartment that was not quite hers and no longer his, watching as she made the tea. She had clearly been studying; a pile of books with paper, pens and a closed laptop sat on the kitchen table, along with four dirty mugs and a plate with a few chocolate chip cookies on it. Belle stepped past him, shoving the books to one side and collecting the mugs to take to the sink. It felt as though he was in her way no matter where he stood, and so he went to the table, watching as she carried the teapot over and set it on the iron trivet before returning for cups, spoons and milk. Gold took a seat, feeling wary, and she sat opposite, resting her elbows on the table and threading her fingers together.

“So,” she said. “Let’s talk. What is it that you want?”

“I want full involvement in this child’s life, of course,” he said evenly.

“Yes, but what does that _ mean_?”

Gold sat back, still gripping the handle of his cane.

“Well, from a practical standpoint, it means that this apartment will be yours,” he said. “Yours and our child’s. I’ll transfer it into your name. It’ll mean you have a place to live, a place that’s close to the university. It’ll give you some stability while you’re studying.”

She blinked, then shook her head, as though she was unsure that she had heard him correctly.

“You - you want to give me this apartment?”

“Why not?”

Belle leaned forward, fixing him with a beady eye.

“Because it must have cost you a fortune,” she said, in a flat tone. “And I know you don’t like to lose a profit on anything. It’s kind of making me suspicious as to what price you’ll want me to pay.”

He glanced away, irritated.

“If you could rein in your hostility for the next fifteen minutes or so I’d be _ eternally _grateful,” he said dryly. “When it comes to my child I assure you money is the least of my concerns. I simply want what’s best for its welfare. That means that you need to be settled, safe and comfortable, alright?”

“Okay,” she said warily.

“Which means I want to give you this apartment,” he continued. “Are you going to refuse me?”

Belle hesitated.

“No,” she said. “No, it would be - it would be nice not to have to worry about stuff breaking or the elevator not working. It would be nice to - to be _ settled_.”

She was chewing her lip, and she met his eyes, nodding briefly.

“I’ll take it,” she said. “I’m - I’m grateful. Really. It’s very generous.”

He nodded, and there was a moment of silence. Belle fidgeted, looking awkward, but seemingly unable to break it.

“The rest of my stuff turned up, by the way,” she said eventually. “Your - uh - people brought everything over.”

“Good. Were there any problems?”

She shook her head.

“I didn’t give notice, though,” she said. “To the landlord, I mean. I guess I really should.”

“When did you last see them?” asked Gold, and she shrugged.

“I don’t know. Few months ago? He turned up at my door after I hung onto the rent because the elevator wasn’t working. He had it fixed and then it broke again. Twice. But I guess since I’d already paid the rent, he wasn’t all that interested in fixing it.” 

He felt his mouth thin.

“Yes, well, I can’t say I’m surprised.” he remarked. “It certainly wasn’t the sort of place that screamed responsible landlord to me.”

She almost smiled at that, and looked away, out of the window. He watched the light shine on her hair, and the pale curves of her cheeks.

“I don’t know what your plans are for when you finish your studies,” he said, trying to keep his mind on the task at hand. “Any thoughts in that regard?”

“I’ll look for a librarian post,” she said, glancing back at him. “I’ll obviously need to take time out of my studies when the baby’s born, so it won’t be for another year at least.”

“Will you stay in Boston?”

“I may not be able to,” she admitted. “Will that be a problem?”

“If you choose to sell the apartment and move elsewhere, that’ll be your decision, of course,” he said. “I’d only ask that you consider my need to see my child when deciding on the destination. I’d like us to discuss it beforehand and reach an agreement. That doesn’t mean I’m averse to moving myself, if necessary, but I’d like you to be reasonable about things.”

“I - yeah, okay,” she said. “I’m not gonna move to England, or anything.”

“Alright,” he said. “I’d also agree to pay you a sum of money each month to ensure that you and the baby have everything you need. Starting now.”

Belle glanced away, biting her lip again.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”

“It’s only child support,” he reasoned. “It’s what you’re entitled to. If we went to court it’s what would be awarded.”

She shrugged faintly, glancing back at him.

“It would mean you can stop dragging yourself across town to work at that diner,” he added. “You shouldn’t be on your feet all day when you’re seven months pregnant anyway. It can’t be good for you or the baby.”

“I didn’t exactly have a lot of choice,” she said shortly.

“And now you do.”

More silence. She was almost visibly struggling with the idea, he could see that, but he kept silent, hoping her common sense would win out over her dislike of him. Eventually she nodded again.

“Okay,” she said reluctantly.

“I’ve already made preliminary arrangements for a trust fund for the child,” he added. “Wherever they want to study, wherever they might want to buy a house, the money will be there. I promise.”

“That’s - that’s a load off my mind,” she admitted. “I know how hard it is to try to fund your studies alone. Thank you.”

“It’s what I’d do for any child of mine,” he said simply. “No thanks are required.”

“I didn’t realise you liked children so much.”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he said, in a dry tone.

She looked up sharply, and he wanted to kick himself.

“Well, that’s beside the point,” he said. “Will you accept the financial settlement I’m proposing?”

Belle ducked her head, squeezing her fingers together. He wondered what she was thinking.

“It’s a lot,” she said finally.

“Are you going to refuse it?”

“No,” she said, after a pause. “I mean, I’d be a fool to, right?”

“I think we both know you’re no fool.”

She let out a hollow chuckle at that, not looking at him, but eventually she nodded.

“Okay,” she said. “Thank you.”

“So,” he said. “That brings us on to visitation.”

Belle raised her head, looking cautious.

“Well, I guess you can take the baby every other weekend,” she said.

“No,” he said coldly, and her eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean, no?”

“You want me to agree to see my child twice a month?” he said, his voice thin. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“That’s the standard arrangement, right?”

“The fact that other men display so little interest in their children is of no concern to me,” he said, and Belle sighed, running a hand through her hair.

“Fine,” she said tiredly. “What do you want?”

“I want equal rights, of course,” he said. “I want an equal say in the raising of this child. I want equal access to it.”

“That’s gonna be pretty difficult since I’m living here and you’re in Storybrooke.”

“If you think I won’t turn my own life upside down if I think it’s the best thing for my child, you underestimate me.”

“Clearly,” she said dryly. “Up until last week I had no indication that you’d even care, but then why would I?”

Gold felt his jaw tighten.

“Why indeed?” he said, his tone icy. “It’s not like you bothered to tell me I was to be a father, after all.”

Belle sat back, brows drawing down.

“I’ve already apologised for that,” she said stiffly. “For what it’s worth—”

“It’s worth fuck all,” he interrupted. “But I suppose it could have been worse. At least you _ did _tell me.”

Belle shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable, and he wanted to snarl. _ So. Almost didn’t, hmm? _

“Well,” he said softly. “We are where we are. It gives us less time to get things organised, but there again I’ll need to spend less time in your presence, which is no doubt a relief.”

“For me or for you?”

Gold closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before glancing at her again. He could feel his patience draining away, and he tried to cling to it, to haul it back.

“Are you going to agree to allow me access, or not?”

“How would that even work?” she asked wearily. “Are we gonna be some sort of - some sort of childcare tag team? Isn’t that going to be unsettling for the baby, if it’s being passed between us all the time?”

“How is that different from parents who work alternate shifts?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“Not like we’re in the same house, is it?”

“Well, we can work out the details later,” he said, his voice cold. “I’m sure that drawing up a child care schedule is not beyond the wit of man. I just need to know that you have no objection in principle, so we know the basis on which to proceed to something more concrete.”

Belle pushed back from the table, folding her arms across her chest and looking put out.

“Fine,” she said. “I _ have no objection in principle_, okay?”

“Good.” His fingers drummed on the cane handle. “We can draw up a rota nearer the time.”

“Can’t wait.”

He felt his teeth clench, and reached out to pour the tea to give himself something else to concentrate on.

“Do you know the sex of the baby?” he asked, pushing a cup towards her, Belle shook her head.

“It had its legs closed on the last scan,” she said. “It’s okay, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know. What about you?”

“I’m happy to wait until it’s born,” he said.

Belle added milk to her tea, stirring it before taking a sip. Her eyes were clear and very blue. He wondered if the child would share them, or if it would take his. Brown eyes usually won out, didn’t they? He’d read that somewhere. It seemed a shame; Belle had beautiful eyes.

“Is there - is there something you’d prefer?” she said, her tone cautious. “Boy or girl?”

“No,” he said honestly. “I don’t mind. You?”

Belle shook her head. There was silence as they drank their tea, but he felt something in his chest loosen a little.

“Any thoughts on names?” he asked. She hesitated, but shook her head.

“I’ve been thinking about it, but I kind of want to wait until it’s born,” she said. “Is there - uh - anything you had in mind?”

“You’ll let me choose?”

“I’ll let you _ contribute_,” she said. “Not saying you get to pick, but I’d like us both to agree.”

“Right.” He felt a slight lessening of the tension between them, and smiled briefly. “Thank you.”

Belle shrugged.

“It’s your baby too.”

He felt his smile widen. She didn’t return it, but she seemed to be less hostile. He decided to move onto another topic, hoping to put her at ease a little more.

“I’ll arrange medical insurance,” he said. “I’ve already made some enquiries, but I’ll need some further details from you.”

“We can go through that tomorrow,” she said. “I take it you’re staying in Boston for a few days?”

“I can stay as long as you like,” he said. 

She didn’t say anything in response to that, just looked into her teacup. 

“And I’d - I’d like to accompany you to appointments, if that’s alright,” he added. “You’ll have the best care Boston can offer.”

“Thank you.” She cradled the cup in her hands, eyeing him over the rim. “I guess there’s not too long to go now.”

“Not long at all.” He sat back, glancing around the apartment. “Have you thought about which room you’ll put the baby in?”

“Uh - I thought the one next to mine,” she said. “The other one could be the guest bedroom, I suppose.”

“Would you like to repaint?”

Belle’s eyes brightened a little.

“Do you mind?”

“Of course not, it’s your apartment,” he said. “Just let me know what you want. Colours, wallpaper if you like. I’ll get some furniture for the baby’s room.”

“Can I help pick it out?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

She sounded as though she meant it, and that knot in his chest loosened a little more, releasing a strange warmth that began to flood through his body and rid him of the numbing cold that seemed to have kept him from feeling for so long. A brief moment of calm, a sense that she was losing some of her hostility towards him, little though he deserved it. Perhaps they could get through this. Perhaps they could build something. There was silence as they drank their tea. Belle chose a cookie, crunching it in small bites, and he watched her, hoping she would eat another. She could do with putting on a little weight.

He smiled briefly, setting down his cup, and Belle glanced at him, still wary.

“I’ll get all the paperwork from my lawyer,” he said. “There are things you’ll need to sign.”

“Okay.”

“You should really get your own legal advice,” he added.

“I’ll think about it.” She put down her cup. “Let me read through everything first.”

“Well, I’m not going to push you into anything,” he said. “We’ve had the paternity test, so I can sign the Acknowledgement of Paternity when the baby’s born. The rest is just - well, it’s just our agreement. Our deal.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “We know how you like your _ deals_.”

Gold sat back, irritated.

“Belle,” he said quietly. “I’m fucking trying, alright?”

“I know.” She pushed back in her seat, not looking at him. “I know you’re trying. I just wish - I wish you didn’t have to _ try_, okay? I wish we weren’t in this position.”

“You wish you weren’t pregnant?”

“No.” She shook her head, glancing back at him. “I wish we weren’t like _ this_. I wish you hadn’t done what you did.”

He hung his head a little.

“Look,” he said calmly. “I know I may have burnt my bridges with you, but—”

He cut off as Belle let out a bitter laugh. 

“You didn’t - you didn’t _ burn your bridges_, Alex, you bloody well blew them out of the water!” she said. “There was no way to come back from that, and - and what kills me is it wasn’t even _ necessary_. You could have just said that you didn’t love me, that you didn’t want to see me again.”

_ You wouldn’t have accepted that. You would have kept pushing, kept trying, I know you would. You would have given your all to me, and I would have taken it because I’m weak. You deserve better. You deserve to be loved. _

Perhaps he should have told her that, been truthful with her for once in his life, but he couldn’t speak. Belle was chewing her lip, looking desperately sad.

“The worst part…” She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, they were as cold as winter, filled with regret. 

“The worst part is, I loved you anyway,” she said quietly. “After you broke up with me, over at your house, I still loved you. I still wanted you. I thought maybe if I gave it some time, if I went away to study and came back, maybe things would be different, maybe _ you _would be different. Maybe things would change.”

_ Things wouldn’t change. Things could never change. I wanted you then and I want you now. That’ll never change. _

“But then I saw you again, the night before I left,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. She ran her hands over her growing belly. “The night you gave me this. And the things you said...”

He wanted to speak, to tell her he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant the terrible things he had said to her, that he wanted to take them back. She was shaking her head, sadness and unbearable loss in her eyes, and the words caught and died in his throat, harsh and hurting.

“The things you said,” she whispered. “You were so - so _ bitter_, so _ hateful_. I was a fool to think we could have had something.”

_ No. No, you were never the fool, that was me. A weak, pathetic fool. I should never have touched you. I knew it would hurt us both. _

“I was an idiot,” she went on, “thinking that I understood you, that I knew you. Like there’s _ anyone _ that knows you. Like you’d _ ever _let me.”

_ I wanted to. God help me, Belle, a part of me wanted to, I know it. _

“And so I worked to get past it,” she said. “And then - this. So I can never forget you, can I? I can never move past you because I’m carrying your child. You’re gonna be a part of my life forever, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it, so you’ll forgive me a few childish digs. I’m sure I’ll get over it.”

He shook his head, his shoulders slumping a little.

“Belle,” he began. “I just—”

“Don’t,” she said wearily. “I don’t want your apology, it’s too late for that.”

He closed his eyes, opened them again.

“I just want to say that everything we had—”

“Everything we had is no longer there,” she interrupted. “And that’s fine.”

It was as though his soul was screaming at him, beating at the inside of his chest, desperate to break out and coil around her and pull her to him. He wanted to speak, but something had wrapped around his tongue and was holding it tight, a scream of anguish frozen in his throat. Belle took a deep breath, letting it out in a long, steady stream, as though cleansing her soul of something dark and foul. She glanced at him, and there was sadness in her eyes, and pain, and loss.

“I suppose at least I know you want to be fully involved in its life,” she added. “That’s more than I was expecting. That’s enough.”

He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the sharp, heavy lump in his throat.

“Right,” he managed.

“It’s not like we need to be _ together _ to raise this child, is it?” she went on. “We just - we just need to be _ parents_.”

“Yes,” he whispered. “That’s it.”

Belle nodded, a gesture of acceptance, and raised her eyes to his.

“Then I guess I’ll wait for you to bring the paperwork over tomorrow,” she said. “I have an appointment in two days, if you want to come with me. I guess I’ll have to arrange something with whoever the new doctor is, right?”

“Right.”

His voice sounded as cold and hollow as he felt, but she didn’t seem to notice, simply giving him a tiny, sad smile.

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

He shook his head wordlessly, and she nodded.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” she said. “I’ll see you out.”

He followed her as though he was in a trance, walking from the apartment, turning to face her and watching her eyes flick to his as she closed the door, shutting him out. His body seemed to sag, hands folding over the handle of his cane as his head dropped and his shoulders slumped.

“Oh, Belle,” he whispered sadly.

She was beautiful with her hair tied up on her head, but he remembered how it looked unbound and falling around her shoulders. It had slipped through his fingers, soft as silk as he kissed her, that night in the cabin when she had told him she loved him. He remembered the look in her eyes as she whispered the words, and the pure, blinding panic he had felt upon hearing them. 

There were a few moments in his life which he had identified as turning points: forked paths in which the decisions he had made had shaped his destiny, for better or worse. Moments when, had he made a different choice, his life would have changed beyond recognition. Gold tried not to acknowledge regrets, a policy which came from having made the wrong choice all too many times, but he wished with all his heart he could go back to that moment and make a different choice. He wished he had told her that he loved her too.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: "39: Just let me help you"

The following day dawned with a clear sky and a cold breeze, and Belle turned her face up to the sun as she walked to the diner where she worked. She felt something approaching relief following her conversation with Gold. There had been so much pain festering away inside her since their break-up, and it was good to let some of that go, to let him understand just how much he had hurt her. After he had left, she had slept well for the first time in weeks, and she felt as though they were at least starting to turn a corner in their relationship. If she could get through the next two months without wanting to kick him in the balls, she would consider it a win.

It was satisfying to be able to give her notice at the diner, and she was fairly certain Ed was just as relieved as she that he wouldn’t have to fire her. She agreed to work the rest of her shifts for the week, and was due to leave on Friday. Jasmine tentatively suggested going out after their final shift together, but Belle shook her head.

“By the time seven p.m. rolls around, I’ll just want to take a shower and fall asleep,” she said, as she wiped down a table. “We could maybe have lunch, though. Are you free on Saturday?”

Jasmine scrunched her nose, shaking her head.

“Can we make it Sunday?” she asked. “Ariel’s supposed to be taking me apartment-hunting. We’ve seen four so far, and all of them had something wrong with them. Why is it so hard to find decent accommodation in this city?”

“Yeah, definitely don’t take anything in my old building,” said Belle, with feeling. "You're looking for something near the university, right?"

"If we can," said Jasmine glumly. "No luck so far, but I guess it's early days. Hopefully we'll get a place before either one of us graduates."

"I'm sure you'll find something."

She began clearing the next table, and Jasmine helped, stacking dirty glasses on a tray. She eyed Belle curiously, dark eyes gleaming.

“So,” she said delicately. “Your ex is in town. How’s that going?”

Belle shrugged, brushing a coil of hair out of her face.

“Well, he’s stepping up,” she said. “He wants full involvement with the baby. He’s giving me everything I could ask for. Even things I wasn’t _ going _to ask for.”

“So that’s good, right?”

“Yeah,” sighed Belle, leaning on the table for a moment. “Yeah, it’s great, don’t get me wrong, but I’m kind of waiting for the punchline.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” She picked up her tray, pushing away from the table and heading for the kitchen. “It’s hard to trust him, you know? I think he’s serious, I really do, but there’s still a part of me that thinks this whole thing is too good to be true.”

"Yeah, I hear you."

"Although he's coming over later to talk about healthcare options and child support," added Belle. "So there's that."

“Service for table six,” snapped Ed, shoving a plate containing a large burger and fries at her. “You two talk about your personal lives on your own time.”

Jasmine smiled sweetly at him, grabbing another two plates of chicken from the side, and stuck out her tongue as soon as his back was turned. Belle made her way back into the diner, shoving the kitchen door open with one hip as she passed through.

“How are things with you and Ariel, anyway?” she asked, over her shoulder. 

“Oh, really good! I mean apart from the not being able to move in together thing.” Jasmine set down her plates and took a breath, eyes scanning the diner before she strode off towards an empty table with yet another pile of dishes. “Her father’s driving her crazy over her study choices, but she’s holding her ground.”

“Yeah.” Belle chewed her lip as she thought about her own father. “Families, huh?”

She pulled a pad from her pocket to take the order of an old man seated by the window, and returned to the kitchen to hand it over and take out another order. It seemed that there was a brief lull, the customers all eating, and so she wiped down the bar before Ed could come out and accuse her of slacking. She knuckled her back as she stood there, a dull pain already starting to develop. Jasmine began stacking glasses, rolling her shoulders tiredly.

“How did you two leave things?” she asked, and Belle pulled a face.

“I - I kind of got a few things off my chest,” she admitted. “Told him exactly how much he’d hurt me. It actually felt - not _ good_, but at least sort of a relief. I think I needed to do it. I think it helped.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing,” said Belle flatly. “He just stared at me with his usual bloody expressionless face like I was reading a bloody shopping list. I mean yeah, he did try to say something at one point before I cut him off, but I was kind of on a roll, and once I was done - nothing. I have no idea whether he was even listening, but if he was, he didn’t react. The guy should play poker for a living.”

She scrubbed at a sticky patch where someone had spilled hot chocolate, frowning.

“Maybe he has difficulty with emotional stuff,” suggested Jasmine.

“What, like every other guy I’ve ever met?” said Belle, in a wry tone. “Spare me.”

Jasmine smirked.

“Couldn’t agree more.”

“Yeah, well,” sighed Belle, leaning on the counter. “As I told him last night, I’m pretty much stuck with him for at least the next eighteen years. Probably longer. Eighteen years of parent-teacher nights and Christmas handovers and agreeing on discipline and boundaries.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” said Jasmine. “Eighteen years gives you a good long period to try and get over him.”

Belle shot her a look.

“I _ am _over him!” she insisted.

“Mhmm.”

“I _ am_!”

Jasmine set the last of the glasses on the shelf, and straightened up, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Yeah, you know who really _ shouldn’t _play poker professionally?” she said.

She pointed a finger at Belle before sashaying off to the kitchen, and Belle stared after her in outrage.

“I _ am_!” she called.

* * *

She caught the bus back after work, but it was still seven-thirty when she returned to the apartment, and her body ached from a day of lifting and carrying. The last thing she felt like was another battle of wits with the father of her child, but she took a quick shower to try to lift some of her tiredness. Gold turned up at eight sharp with a large folder under one arm, while she still had her hair wrapped in a towel, and she took a deep breath, determined to be civil. His eyes were looking darker than usual, his face a little drawn.

“Hey,” she said. 

“Belle,” he said calmly, and she put her head to the side.

“You okay? You don’t look so good.”

Gold inhaled through his nose, and there was a sudden flash of what looked like bone-deep weariness etched across his face. It was gone almost immediately as he let out the breath he had taken, and he was his usual impassive self. 

“I was awake most of the night,” he said.

“Something on your mind?” she asked. His lips twitched. 

“I don’t recommend the _ Arendelle Hotel_, for future reference.”

“Well, not like I could ever afford to stay there, but duly noted.” She stepped back to let him in. “Tea?”

“Please.”

He stepped past her, and she closed the door and followed him through to the kitchen. The bright lights were shining on his hair, highlighting the threads of silver that were running through it. She wondered how long he had been cutting it, whether it had been something he had done the moment she left town, the mark of a new chapter in his life. She wondered how his life had changed since she had left, if at all. 

He placed the folder he was carrying on the kitchen table, and shrugged out of his heavy coat, pulling off leather gloves and unwinding the scarf from around his neck. The motion released a rush of scent: spicy cologne and his own musk, and she found herself inhaling deeply before she realised what she was doing. The silk shirt beneath his jacket was dark blue, and her breath hitched as she remembered the last time she had seen him wear it. The time he had driven her to his cabin and spent hours making her come. The first time she had told him she loved him. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and his brow creased a little.

“I could make the tea, if you like,” he said, and she started.

“No no, I was just - I was miles away. Let me do it.”

She could feel her cheeks heat as she crossed to the sink, and she kept her back to him as she filled the kettle and got out cups. By the time the tea was brewing, she was able to face him, and Gold had seated himself at the kitchen table with his jacket off, gold sleeve garters pushed up above his elbows as he tapped his fingers on the folder in front of him. Belle carried the tea things to the table, sliding into a chair opposite him.

“Right,” she said. “What did you bring?”

He opened up the folder, taking out a sheaf of documents and pushing it across the table.

“Forms for the medical insurance,” he said. “If you could fill those out today, I’ll arrange everything.”

“Okay.”

He fished out another document.

“I also need your bank account details, for the child support payments.”

“Weren’t we going to have an agreement drawn up?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said patiently. “But I told you I’d start paying you straight away, remember? The agreement will come, as soon as we’ve hammered out all the terms, but in the meantime I don’t want you to have to go on working all hours.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Would you prefer to be paid weekly or monthly?”

“Uh - monthly, I guess.” Belle looked down at the form, eyes running over it and taking nothing in. “Although - I kind of gave my notice at work, so if we could make it weekly for the first month? Things are gonna be pretty tight otherwise.”

“Understood.”

He reached into the folder again.

“The only other thing I have for tonight is this,” he said, and handed over some glossy booklets from upmarket decorators. “I thought you might want to choose some colours for your new home.”

“Right.” Belle couldn’t help smiling as she started leafing through them. “I don’t mind doing the painting, if you get the colours.”

“I could pay someone, it’s not a problem.”

“No,” she said decidedly, looking up and meeting his eyes. “No, I think I want to do it.”

Gold smiled briefly.

“As you wish.”

She returned the smile, and glanced down at the booklet in front of her, running her eyes over the swatches of colour. Perhaps a lavender tone for the nursery.

“What are your plans tomorrow?” he asked.

Belle looked up again, and he picked up the teapot and began pouring for both of them.

“Well, I have class in the morning,” she said. “I have a medical appointment at two.”

“And after that?”

She shrugged.

“No more class. I guess I’ll come back here and get some study done. Why?”

Gold put down the teapot, glancing at her.

“Well, I was going to suggest that I take you shopping.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she said hastily. “I could get Emma to drive me. I mean, if you’re busy—”

“I’m not,” he interrupted. “We’re already meeting to go to see the doctor, so why don’t we kill two birds with one stone and take a look at nursery furniture afterwards?”

Belle chewed at her lip, and he spread his hands.

“If you’ve picked out colours, we could even get the paint,” he added.

“I’ll need brushes and everything.”

“We can get those too.”

Belle sent him a wry look.

“And you’re ready for this minimalist paradise to be turned into a riot of colour, are you?”

“My house is pink,” he said bluntly.

She giggled at that, surprising herself, and his eyes twinkled for a moment, but then he sat up, threading his fingers together as he met her eyes.

“It’s only a shopping trip, Belle,” he said quietly. “You’ve been dealing with more than enough on your own already. Please, just let me help you.”

Belle took a breath, and nodded.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Good.”

He pushed a cup of tea towards her, and Belle added a little milk and stirred. Gold sat back, watching her over the rim of his cup.

“I saw your father while I was in Storybrooke, by the way,” he said. “I thought I should tell him face to face that I intended to support you and the baby.”

Belle put down her cup, her good mood stealing away again.

“Yeah, I gathered you’d spoken to him,” she said, her tone flat. “Before I called you about the test results, right?”

“What?” He looked puzzled. “No, after. It was actually the call from you that made me think perhaps I ought to speak to him. I - I had no idea he’d cut you off.”

_ Oh. Well. _

“Did you give him this address?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “He told me he’d hear it from you, not me.”

“Right.” She wanted to shrink in her chair a little. “Well, I’ve not heard from him in five months, so I guess he’s not too concerned about my living arrangements.”

“It seems not,” said Gold, in a cold voice. “I did let him know exactly what I thought of that, but I have a feeling it may have had the opposite effect to the one I intended.”

Belle shrugged uncomfortably.

“I doubt it would make much difference either way,” she said. “He told me from the start I should get rid of the baby.”

“Did he now?” Gold’s voice was ominously flat. “Well. Luckily for me, you didn’t agree.”

“Of course not.”

She hung her head a little, still hurt by her father’s rejection, and there was a moment of silence.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” he said quietly, and Belle raised her head.

“No, it’s - it’s not your fault,” she said, and his mouth quirked.

“Well, that makes a change.”

She returned the tiny smile, although her lip wobbled a little.

“Try to keep it up,” she said decidedly, and his smile grew.

“I’ll do my best.”

More silence, but it was a little more comfortable. Belle sipped at her tea before setting down her cup and getting a pen to fill out the forms he had given her. Gold sat in silence as she did it, refilling their cups as soon as they were emptied.

“What happens at this appointment tomorrow?” he asked, and she glanced up.

“Oh, nothing major. I get weighed and measured and my blood pressure taken, that kind of thing. It’s probably not very interesting.”

“I still want to go with you,” he said. “I'd like to go to all of them."

He hesitated, fingers stroking the cup, and his eyes met hers as he seemed to choose his words carefully.

"What are your feelings on me attending the birth?" he asked.

Belle sat back, surprised by his uncertainty.

"Oh," she said. "I - I guess I just assumed you would. Is that right? Do you not want to?"

"No no, I want to," he said. "I just wasn't sure I'd be welcome."

She reached for her cup again, cradling it in her hands.

"Well, like I said, it's your baby too," she said. That brief smile again.

"Thank you."

"Plus it means I get to scream and swear at you for hours," she added. "Probably better than a therapy session."

Gold's smile grew.

"Did you say there was an ultrasound?” he asked.

“Oh. Yeah, let me get it.”

She pushed to her feet, going through to the bedroom to take out the envelope she had placed in her nightstand. When she returned to the kitchen, Gold was sitting upright with his elbows on the table and his fingertips tapping together, nervous energy coming off him in waves. She reached into the envelope, pulling out one of the pictures there and handing it over.

“They said I wouldn’t need another one unless anything out of the ordinary happened,” she said. “It’s healthy, no worries there, they said. Everything where it should be.”

Gold had gone very still. He was staring at the photograph she had given him, an unreadable look in his eyes.

“It was - kind of weird, seeing the baby for the first time,” she added. “It made it _ real_, you know?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, it’s real.”

His fingers were shaking a little, clutching the edges of the photograph, and she put her head to the side, curiosity building in her. What was he thinking? Was he as overwhelmed as she had been on first seeing the picture of their child? She couldn’t blame him, if so, but she hadn't expected it.

“You can keep that one,” she said, reaching for her tea again. “They gave me two.”

He glanced up at her, and there was an expression in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. Softness, and something that was almost vulnerable. His lower lip trembled a little, but he smiled.

“Thank you, Belle,” he whispered. “Thank you.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @xiolaperry prompted: "Twisted Fate - prompt #1: It's all my fault."

When she had found out that she was pregnant, Belle had gone through a range of emotions. The first was panic, closely followed by denial, then by bitter anguish. She had spent much of the day of the test results crying in the university restrooms and lamenting the day she had ever decided to go to bed with Alexander Gold. For a brief moment, she had been tempted to call him to give him the news, just so he could share in some of her misery, but the thought of his cold disdain was too much to face, especially after her father had practically disowned her.

She had made up her mind almost immediately that she would keep the baby, which was one less decision to fret over, but that meant that a number of other choices had to be made, and made quickly. She had the test result confirmed, was given an approximate due date, and had talked to the university about deferring completion of her studies once the baby arrived. She had sought advice from Emma about what to expect throughout pregnancy, had read every book on the subject that she could find, and had tried to ensure that she ate a balanced diet. When she could keep her food down. Overall, she felt that she was about as well-prepared for motherhood as a single woman in her early twenties making minimum wage and with no family to support her could be. Which was not very prepared at all.

Belle had assumed that having Gold tell her categorically that he intended to help out both financially and physically with the baby would make her relax, but in reality it only caused her more anxiety, and she was unsure why that was. Certainly having the apartment had given her some security, and waking up in its large and comfortable bed every morning was like letting out a deep, calming breath. She was free of the constant worry over money and making ends meet, of the landlord knocking at the door to demand rent that she didn’t have. And yet, she still felt an ongoing, exhausting sense of stress, an acidic ball of iron that had settled in her belly and refused to leave. 

He was true to his word, picking her up from outside the university in his Cadillac and driving her to the new clinic for her check-up. Belle sat in silence, hands folded in her lap as they went, and once they had parked up Gold offered her his arm. Taking it felt strange, but she tried to put it from her mind, focusing on the doors of the clinic, and beyond them the gleaming waiting area with its plush leather seats and fresh coffee. 

There was paperwork to fill out, and tests to be run, but it was nothing she hadn’t been through before. Gold seemed anxious as the doctor held the consultation with her, but Belle was unfazed by the questions asked and the measurements taken. She had expected this first visit to take a little longer, given that she was a new patient. Dr Jekyll was a nervous-looking man who blinked a lot, but he seemed to know what he was talking about.

“Well, the baby seems to be developing as expected,” he said at last. “You’re a little underweight, though. You could do with eating a little more, if you can manage it.”

“I’ve been trying to tell her that,” put in Gold, and Belle glared at him.

“Yeah, well, there’s only so many hours in the day,” she muttered. “I have work and study to take care of, alongside everything else.”

“Then try to make sure you get as much nutrient-dense food as possible,” said Dr Jekyll kindly. “Carry snacks with you as you go about, and make sure you don’t go too long between meals. Building a baby is hard work, you need to make sure your body has the fuel it needs.”

“I’ll try to feed her up,” said Gold.

“Good, good,” said Jekyll vaguely, looking at his notes. “I don’t expect there to be much change between now and next week, but try to make sure she eats a range of quality foods, not just sugar.”

Belle bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from snapping at both of them.

“Well, the good news is there’s not long to go now,” said Jekyll, peering at his computer screen. “You’re due on May fifth, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“A spring baby,” he said, glancing at her over the top of his glasses. “This cold weather will have cleared up by then. A little sunshine to welcome the new light in your life.”

He smiled at her, and Belle couldn’t help smiling back. Yes. She was looking forward to the baby being born. Quite how it would change her relationship with its father was still to be seen.

* * *

After the doctor’s appointment, they went to buy paint. Belle had chosen the colours she wanted: lilac and pale blue for the nursery and terracotta for the kitchen. She hadn’t made a decision on the lounge and bedrooms yet, and Gold said it could wait until she was sure. He bought paint trays, rollers and brushes, along with a set of painting overalls for her to wear and several large sheets to spread over the floors and furniture.

“Thanks,” she said, as they packed everything into the trunk of the car. “You know how clumsy I am. I’ll probably track paint all over the apartment without these.”

“I could still get professionals in to paint the walls,” he said.

“Thanks, but I’d like to do it myself,” she said. “It - it would help to make the place feel more like mine, you know?”

“I understand.”

Gold closed the trunk, taking a step back.

“I can always help you out, if you like,” he ventured, but she shook her head.

“Emma and Neal have already said they’ll help,” she said. “We’re gonna have kind of a paint-the-apartment party this weekend.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Well, if there’s anything else you need, just let me know.”

He flashed her a brief smile, the light catching in his eyes. He looked very handsome with his short hair, and she looked away, pain making her mouth twist. She hadn’t been lying when she told him she couldn’t move past him. How long would it take for her to fall out of love with him? Forever, she imagined, if he continued to act like a decent human being. Damn him.

* * *

As the afternoon wore on, he continued to treat her with a gentle solicitude, insisting on taking her for tea at a nearby deli and watching as she ate a piece of pumpkin pie with cream that had been laced with cinnamon and whipped to soft peaks. Pumpkin pie probably wasn’t what Dr Jekyll had had in mind when he told her to eat more, but it was so delicious she didn’t really care. Gold waved away her offer to share, merely drinking a black coffee, and she wondered if he had appointed himself her nutritionist. Chief engineer of the baby-making machine. The thought made her frown to herself, but it didn’t stop her from eating the pie.

After the deli, Gold took her to a large department store that she had never before set foot in due to the prices. Inside was a beautiful glittering paradise of sleek synthetic marble and polished wood, filled with the scents of hundreds of perfumes and toiletries. The baby section was large, a sea of pink and blue and white, and she felt out of place in her scuffed boots and five-year-old coat, although she tried not to let it bother her.

Gold seemed almost animated by the shopping trip, having lengthy discussions with the sales staff about items to purchase and displaying a surprising amount of knowledge about what babies needed. Belle largely left him to it, wandering along behind him with the little shopping cart and only giving input when he asked. They agreed on a set of furniture in pale grey and white, a chest of drawers and dresser with a large, well-cushioned chair in which she could sit and feed the baby. It was a strange thing to think of, that the child inside her would very soon be on the outside, in her arms and looking for her to feed it and keep it safe. It was overwhelming if she thought about it too much, so she tried to put it from her mind. Low-level terror over being responsible for a tiny human would have to wait.

“So, the furniture can be delivered on Wednesday afternoon,” he said, making her look up. “Is that alright?”

“Uh - can we make it Thursday?” she asked. “I have to work Wednesday.”

“Ah. Well, how about next week?” he asked. “You’ll have stopped working by then, right?”

“Right.”

“And I suppose it’ll be better, because the nursery will have been painted,” he added. “You can just take everything for the baby in there, rather than store it elsewhere in the apartment.”

“Right,” she repeated.

“I’ll tell them when it comes to paying for everything,” he said. “Let’s keep looking.”

He hurried off with what was almost a spring in his step, and she watched him go, a wave of sadness washing over her. She became more withdrawn as they made their way around the section, and responded with unenthusiastic murmurs to his suggestions. Gold eyed her with a slight frown on his face at first, which made her bristle, although she tried not to show it. 

“I have a crib,” she told him, as he was looking over the third one that afternoon. “Emma was going to lend me Henry’s.”

“Our child doesn’t need hand-me-downs,” he said dismissively. “Besides, what if she chooses to have another baby? She’ll need it back.”

“I think that’s highly unlikely in the middle of her studies, don’t you?”

“I think babies come when they come,” he replied.

Belle sighed, and left him to it, merely nodding when he asked if she agreed with his choice. She could feel herself getting ever more anxious and resentful, and while she told herself that he was stepping up and supporting her as she had wanted, and that she was therefore being unreasonable, she couldn’t seem to shake her negativity. The reactions of the staff didn’t help.

“Are you and your husband finding everything okay?” chirped the third sales assistant in ten minutes, as Belle pawed listlessly through a rack of romper suits. Gold was some way ahead, his free arm filled with clothing in a myriad of colours.

“We’re not married,” she said coldly, and the sales assistant beamed.

“Oh, sorry! Still, plenty of time for that. I guess you’ve been concentrating on preparing for baby, right?”

“I’ve mostly been concentrating on not killing him,” said Belle flatly, and flourished one of the suits. “Do you have this in any other colours?”

“Uh - let me check out back.”

The sales assistant wandered off, and Belle heaved a sigh of relief.

“What about these?”

She looked around to see Gold holding up a pair of patterned booties with pom-poms hanging from strings. He shook them at her, a wide smile on his face as the pom-poms bounced.

“Adorable, hmm?” he said. “How could you resist them?”

“What are you doing?” she demanded, and he looked puzzled.

“Picking out baby things.”

“No,” she said. “No, I mean - I mean what are you _ doing_?”

His confusion only seemed to increase.

“I don’t understand.”

“Forget it,” she sighed, snatching the booties off him and dropping them in the cart.

She could feel him staring after her as she walked off, but to give him his due he soon caught her up, dropping his choices into the cart and making quiet suggestions as to other things they might need. It felt as though he had picked up on her mood and was trying to placate her, which only made her more irritated, and then annoyed at herself for being irrational. It was a relief when he announced that they probably had enough to be going on with, and went to pay for everything. She was silent on the way back to the apartment, and the atmosphere between them was heavy and dark, making her feel awkward as she plucked at the skin on the back of her hand: a nervous, repetitive gesture. 

Gold could sense that Belle was annoyed with him, although he wasn’t sure why that was, other than the massive fuck-up that had led to them being in this situation in the first place. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it, though, and he didn’t know what to say, so he endured the painful silence on the journey back to her apartment. He helped her carry up the tins of paint and the bags of brushes and rollers, and she thanked him quietly as he set them on the kitchen counter. She had stepped back, towards the window with its view over the park, and was looking out of it and chewing her lip.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked, his voice seeming loud in the tense silence, and she shook her head. He heaved a sigh.

“Belle, you seem upset with me,” he said wearily. “I don’t know why, besides the obvious, so can you please tell me what I’ve done?”

“You haven’t done anything.”

It was said automatically, and in something of a monotone. He wasn’t sure she believed it any more than he.

“Please,” he said again. “I know this is a difficult time for you, and I know the baby’s arrival must be making you nervous, so if there’s anything I can do...”

He left it hanging, hoping she would help him out and tell him what she needed. Belle seemed to wriggle uncomfortably, sucking her teeth a little.

“It’s - it’s hard,” she said eventually.

“I know,” he said carefully. “That’s why I’m trying to make sure you have as little to worry about financially as I can, and why I wanted to get everything the baby might need.”

“No,” she said. “It’s hard - it’s hard having you around.”

She wasn’t really looking at him, her eyes darting furtively to him and then away, her shoulders hunched a little. It felt as though a heavy weight had lodged in his throat and was making its way slowly down towards his stomach.

“Oh,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else. _You're a fucking idiot. __Of course it's hard. Why would she want the person who broke her heart back in her life? Moron!_

“It feels—” Belle screwed up her nose, glancing away. “It’s like when we’re out shopping together and people treat us like we’re a married couple or something, and it’s like a slap in the face every damn time.”

“Why do you care what people think?”

“That’s not the point…” She ran her hands over her face. “It’s not what they _ think_, it’s - it’s what it _ is_. Maybe I’m not explaining it all that well. I’m not sure I even know what I mean.”

“Okay,” he said, bewildered. “Well, in that case, why don’t you tell me what you need?”

“I need you to go,” she said decidedly, nodding.

The weight settled in his lower belly, spreading outwards and anchoring his feet to the floor.

“Right,” he said, his voice hollow. “Right. Then I’ll go.”

“Thank you.”

She was hugging herself now, arms folded protectively over the top of her swollen belly. He wanted to hug her himself, to take her in his arms and hold her close, to offer her comfort and reassurance. It hit him hard in the gut, a painful, breathtaking blow as he realised that he had never done so. Not once. He tried to think of a time when he had shown her some intimacy without them having sex, and couldn’t. God, no wonder she hated him! He swallowed hard, his mouth dry.

“Can I still take you to your next appointment?” he asked, his voice sounding eerily calm in his head, and she nodded.

“Of course.”

"There's still the matter of seeing my lawyer," he went on. "Perhaps we can schedule them both for the same day."

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Right," he said, for what felt like the hundredth time. “Then I’ll see you next Monday.”

She nodded again, dark curls bouncing around her shoulders, still hunched against him, shutting him out.

“I’ll go back to Storybrooke,” he added, figuring it would do her good to know he wouldn’t be in the city. That he wouldn’t be haunting her, stalking her from the shadows as she tried to go on with her life.

“Thank you,” she said again, and hesitated. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” he said, his tone wry. “It’s all my fault, after all.”

She hung her head a little, as though she agreed with him, but didn’t want to say it aloud. He could feel his hand beginning to ache from gripping the cane handle, and loosened his grip. 

“Well,” he said. “I’ll see myself out.”

She nodded, giving him one final glance. Her blue eyes were filled with sadness, and guilt, and regret. He could feel his own emotions rising up inside him, wanting to burst out and drown him, and so he nodded stiffly and turned away, heading for the door with a slow and heavy tread. She needed space. He could give her that, at least.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time, Belle told Gold it was hard having him around, and so he offered to give her some space. So he leaves her alone for a week. It doesn't really help.
> 
> You'll be pleased to know that while I'm causing them both pain, things will start to improve between them next chapter.
> 
> Anonymous prompted: 40 “Don't make excuses for nasty people. You can't put a flower in an asshole and call it a vase.”
> 
> @anonymousnerdgirl prompted: 8 “I can’t do this again. I won’t.”

Gold’s leg seemed to be more painful than usual, his gait more uneven as he left the apartment building and stepped out into the cold evening air. His head was in turmoil, thoughts and emotions whirling in thick clouds, rent by jagged bolts of hurt and indignation and the first hints of deep, dark sorrow. For a moment it was too much, and he stopped abruptly, causing the person walking behind to stumble and swerve around him with a muttered curse. Gold clutched at his cane, leaning on it with hunched shoulders as he breathed deeply. 

He was surprised to find that he was shaking, tears pricking at his eyes, and confusion over his reactions only added to his anguish. Her rejection was something he had come to expect by now, and certainly was what he deserved, but it was getting harder to push aside and ignore. A four-hour drive back to Storybrooke was the last thing he felt like facing, and so he made a decision. He would stay another night at the hotel, as he had originally planned, and return to Maine in the morning. Which meant that he could deal with his unwanted thoughts and feelings in one of the two ways he knew. Ignoring them wasn’t proving too easy, so perhaps obliterating them with whisky would work.

Nodding to himself, he left his car where it was, and walked to the nearest bar. It was too warm, the air thick and moist, and there was a large flat screen television showing a hockey game that was a little too loud for comfort, but at least it was fairly quiet. Gold sat at the bar, near the door that led to the back offices and as far from the noise of the television as he could.

“Whisky,” he said, to the sleepy-eyed bartender. “Make it a large one.”

“Toasting your fortunes or drowning your sorrows?” asked the bartender, and Gold gave him a cool, flat stare.

“Enjoying my privacy.”

The bartender grumbled something uncomplimentary as he poured the whisky, but Gold didn’t care. He drank it too quickly, the liquor burning his mouth and throat, rough and raw. It gave him something to think about other than Belle, so he pushed the glass across the bar when he caught the bartender’s eye.

“That’s bloody terrible,” he said, and the bartender shrugged.

“I got a few different kinds, if you want to pay a bit more.”

Gold wrinkled his nose.

“No, I’ll have another glass of this toilet cleaner, please,” he said. “I’m not drinking it for the taste.” 

“You got it.”

The bartender poured him a second glass, eyeing him appraisingly, as though he was trying to work out the reason for his bad mood. Gold waited for the inevitable, unwelcome intervention.

“Cheer up, buddy,” said the bartender. “You know what they say: shit happens. You just gotta try to rise above it.”

_ There it is. _Gold sent him a level look.

“Shit happened over seven months ago,” he said coldly. “Right now I just keep digging my way deeper into the sewer, so I’m really not in the mood for empty platitudes.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I almost always do,” drawled Gold. “Are you gonna give me that drink before I die of boredom?”

The bartender muttered something about where he could shove his drink, banging the whisky down in front of him. Gold drank it more slowly than the first, in small sips that stung and burned. The noise from the television rose, accompanied by shouts from the customers watching, and then a raucous, collective cheer as a goal was scored. Gold curled his lip.

“Hey there.” A dark-haired man leaned on the bar next to him, reaching into his pocket and flourishing a card at the bartender. “I’m here from Spencer & King Associates. Picking up the books?”

“Oh, right.” The bartender dropped the rag he had been using to mop up spilled beer. “I got everything out back.”

“Cool.”

He pushed away from the bar, following the bartender through the door, and Gold turned back to his whisky, watching amber light swirl in its depths. The glass would be empty soon, and he had already decided he would order another. 

“Thanks, man.”

Gold looked up as the bartender held open the door that led to the back offices. The dark-haired young man was carrying a large box stuffed with files, and Gold recognised him as Belle’s friend. Henry’s father. He was wearing a suit and tie beneath a heavy wool coat, the tie somewhat askew beneath a thick scarf. The light of recognition flared in the man’s eyes, and he pushed the box of files onto the bar.

“Uh - Alex Gold, right?” he said.

Gold nodded an acknowledgement, and the young man smiled, dark eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I know we met the other day, but I didn’t introduce myself,” he said. “Neal Cassidy.”

He held out a hand, and after a moment Gold sat back on his stool and took it, shaking it briefly.

“A pleasure.”

“You here in Boston to see Belle?”

“I was,” said Gold stiffly, slumping forward onto his folded arms again. “We went shopping for the baby. And paint for the apartment.”

“Oh, yeah, we’re gonna help her decorate the place,” said Neal. “Me and Emma. That’s my wife, by the way. Don’t think Belle introduced her, either.”

“No.” Gold took another sip of his whisky.

“You joining in this painting party?” asked Neal. “There’s pizza and beers in it for you. I’m guessing Belle could use the help.”

“I’m sure she could,” said Gold dryly. “She just doesn’t want it from me.”

He was aware that he sounded bitter, so he took another drink, swallowing the last of the whisky and gesturing to the bartender for another. Neal leaned on the bar with a sigh, running a hand through his dark hair.

“Look, it’s none of my business,” he said. “But she’s been through a lot, you know?”

Gold was silent, watching the bartender pour another measure of the terrible whisky, and Neal continued.

“Thinking she’ll have to raise the kid alone, worrying about college, her father being a useless tool - she’s had a ton of crap to carry around,” he said. “I guess it’s not exactly surprising she wants you to take a step back. Get a bit of space, you know?”

Gold clenched his jaw, resenting both being given advice by a total stranger and the fact that Neal probably knew Belle’s mind far better than he did. Neal seemed to take his silence for contemplation.

“For what it’s worth, I get it,” he said. “I get not knowing about the kid for all that time sucks. And I get that you want to be there to raise it. Stepping up for them means a lot, and Belle’s gonna see that. She’ll come around. You just have to give her some time.”

Gold reached for his whisky, throwing it back in one dreadful, burning mouthful, and setting the glass down with a dull clunk before turning a freezing stare on Neal.

“Well, you’re certainly right about one thing,” he said coolly. “It’s none of your business.”

He pulled some cash from his pocket, throwing it onto the bar, and stomped out, ignoring the pain shooting through his leg. Everyone was just brimming the fuck over with good advice.

* * *

Belle managed to fill her week with work and study, enough to keep her from thinking about her relationship with the father of her child. Until she lay down at night, of course. Telling him to stay away had hurt him, she had seen it for the briefest of moments in his eyes before he had given her his usual flat, expressionless look. She didn’t like causing him pain, but it hurt her more to have him there, excited for the baby’s arrival but still lost to her. It hurt to have him so close and be unable to touch him.

Despite Gold’s instructions to the store to leave it a week, the delivery turned up on Wednesday while Belle was out at work. She returned with sore feet, reeking of burgers and fries, to find Marco excitedly beckoning her to the secure closet where he had stored the boxes of flat-packed furniture and baby things. He got his son August to take them up to the apartment for her. August was handsome and dark-haired with a ready smile, and happily loaded everything into the elevator with her. Belle wondered if he could smell the diner on her as they rode upwards, but she was too tired to care. She gave him a tip from her wages when he had finished carrying everything in, and collapsed onto the couch in relief when he had gone.

It felt good to work what she knew would be her final shift at the diner on Friday evening. Gold had been true to his word and transferred a sum of money to her account, and Belle sat for a moment as she stared at the balance showing on her phone, unused to having no financial worries, and unsure how to feel about it. It was as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and she was grateful to him for that, but she wasn’t sure she would ever get used to not having to count every penny. Perhaps that was just as well. 

Saturday was bright and crisp, and she spent the morning studying, seated at the kitchen table and enjoying the sunlight streaming through the window as she sipped tea and made notes. She had time to make a sandwich for lunch and ate it quickly, so that she could tidy the place up a little before Emma came over with Neal and Henry to help her paint.

“Thanks so much for this, you guys,” said Belle, as she let them in. “Pizza’s on me later, okay? I made some iced peach tea, and there are sodas in the fridge.”

“We brought beers, too,” said Neal, holding up a six-pack. “Although I guess that’s just for me and Emma.”

“No beer until the painting’s done,” said Emma firmly. “Which room’s first?”

“Uh - the nursery, I guess,” said Belle. “Right this way.”

* * *

The afternoon passed enjoyably, loud music playing as they dipped rollers in the paint and put colour on the walls. Neal was responsible for the delicate work of touching up corners and edges, with Belle, Emma and Henry focusing on getting the bulk of the colour on. Everything Gold had bought for the baby was stacked in a corner of the lounge, ready to go in the nursery when the painting was finished. Once the first coat was on, Belle showed the others what they had bought, and Emma cooed over some of the toys and outfits.

“Reminds me of when Henry was tiny,” she said, holding up a fluffy white romper. “Man, they’re so cute when they’re all little and helpless.”

“I’m cute now,” said Henry.

“Yeah, and you’ll be even cuter when you’re my age,” said Neal, tickling him and making him giggle. “What’s this, Belle?”

He tapped one of the large cardboard boxes leaning against the wall.

“Crib,” said Belle. “Those boxes are a whole new set of furniture for the baby things.”

“I told you you could borrow our crib,” said Emma, and Belle sighed.

“Yeah, and Alex said you two might decide to have another baby in the next year,” she said. Emma snorted.

“While I’m still studying? Doubt it. What kind of masochist would want to do that?”

“Hey, I’m right here,” said Belle evenly, and Emma winced, making her giggle.

“Oops. Don’t listen to me, honey, you know what I meant.”

“I know,” said Belle, with a grin. “It wasn’t exactly in my life plan either.”

“I guess babies come when they come,” said Neal, echoing Gold’s words of earlier in the week.

“Guess so,” said Belle quietly. “Anyway, he was kind of on a furniture-buying roll. I don’t think I could have stopped him, even if I’d tried.”

“Looks like this painting party’ll turn into a flat-pack furniture building party later on,” remarked Neal, patting the box. “I definitely shouldn’t drink too many beers if that’s the case.”

“I’ll still be sober,” said Belle, with a chuckle. “If one of you understands the instructions, I think we’ll be okay.”

“The baby’s gonna have loads of cool things, Belle,” said Henry. “Can we take it trick-or-treating on Halloween?”

“Uh - sure, I guess so.” 

“Yeah, the Halloween outfits for babies are adorable,” said Emma. “How d’you think Gold’ll react to being presented with a miniature pumpkin drooling on his suit?”

Belle couldn’t help smiling at the mental picture.

“I don’t think he’ll mind that,” she said. “He’ll have to get used to the increased dry-cleaning bills.”

“Maybe he’ll switch things up,” suggested Neal. “Dress down a bit more. Jeans and shirts, maybe.”

Belle snorted.

“I’m not even sure he _ owns _a pair of jeans.”

“Oh, come on, everyone owns a pair of jeans!”

“Not him,” she said, in a wry tone. “I guess it’ll be interesting to see if having the baby changes anything about him.”

_ Including his inability to show emotions, _ she thought_. Will he love our baby? Will he let them know, or will he bottle up his feelings and pretend he doesn’t care? I’m not sure I could stand to watch that. _She felt her mouth flatten as she followed the others back into the nursery to make a start on the second coat of paint, an uneasy sense of dread filling her. No child should have to wonder if their parents loved them.

“I saw him, by the way,” said Neal, jerking her out of her reverie. “Gold.”

Belle looked around, surprised.

“Where?”

“Bar two blocks from here,” said Neal, drawing his paintbrush in an even line around the light switch. “Monday evening, so I guess after you went shopping. He was sitting at the bar drinking whisky like it was on sale.”

“Oh.” Belle chewed her lip. “Did he talk to you?”

“Not really,” said Neal. “Said hi. Stared into his drink while I tried to say something supportive. Told me it was none of my business.”

“Oh,” said Belle awkwardly. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” said Neal, with a shrug. “Not like he was wrong. Guess I wouldn’t want a stranger getting in my business either.”

“Don’t make excuses for nasty people,” said Emma, rolling paint briskly. “You can’t put a flower in an asshole and call it a vase.”

_ “Mom!” _said Henry, horrified, as Belle and Neal burst out laughing.

“What? I’m right.” Emma straightened. “He screwed up. I mean it sounds like he knows it and is trying to make amends, but the guy still has a way to go before he’s a model citizen.”

“Yeah, well, I guess he’s being a model expectant father at the moment,” said Belle, with a sigh. “Looks like me and the baby are gonna want for nothing.”

“That’s good, right?” said Henry, and Belle smiled at him.

“It’s good,” she agreed. “It’s more than I expected. He seems - he’s really excited. Like he can’t wait for the baby to get here. Like it’s all he can think of.” _ And if the baby wasn’t coming, he wouldn’t even talk to me. He’d be back in Storybrooke, pretending what happened between us meant nothing. Or maybe it _did_ mean nothing. To him. Maybe I really was just something to use to pass the time. _

She chewed her lip, and Emma seemed to pick up on her mood.

“Come on guys, less talking, more painting,” she said.

They made short work of the second coat, three of the walls now a fetching shade of lilac, the one opposite the door a calming pale blue. Emma gave a final few strokes with her roller, then dropped it into the paint tray.

“Okay!” she said. “That’s two coats done. Why don’t we head out and get some fresh air before we start on the kitchen? Hot chocolate at that deli we passed?”

“Yeah!” said Henry enthusiastically. “And muffins?”

“We’ll check if they do ‘em, kid.”

“The muffins are pretty good,” said Belle. “But the apple tart is to _ die _ for.”

“Sold,” said Neal, clapping his hands together. “Come on, buddy, let’s go clean up.”

They wandered out in the direction of the kitchen, and Belle wiped her hands on her overalls and stretched, sighing. Emma was eyeing her knowingly.

“It’s hard having him back in your life, huh?” she said quietly.

Belle nodded.

“I spent months wishing he was here, and now he is, I can’t decide which is more painful,” she said, her tone subdued.

“You still love him,” said Emma gently.

“No.” Belle shook her head. “No, that’s - that would be stupid.”

“Yeah, and no one ever said love was logical.” Emma reached out to take her hand. “Belle, it’s been pretty clear to me since the day we met that you’re still in love with the guy. That’s only become more obvious since he came back into your life.”

Belle was silent, wishing she could deny it, and Emma sighed.

“Just tell him, honey,” she said. “It’s only gonna eat you up otherwise. Tell him you love him, and that’s why you can’t stand having him around.”

“I told him I loved him before,” said Belle bitterly. “Pretty sure that’s how I ended up single and pregnant.”

“Yeah, and now you know he’s not running anywhere,” said Emma.

“Yet.”

“You seriously think he’s gonna bail?” said Emma. “Why would he when he’s gone to all this expense?”

Belle stripped off the overalls, tugging her shirt straight.

“Who knows why he does anything?” she muttered. “Come on, let’s go get that apple tart.”

* * *

Painting the apartment made Belle feel as though she had achieved something, and the newly-decorated nursery, complete with baby furniture and stocked with toys and clothes, was a welcome sight. It made her smile when she saw it, and she felt, if not exactly ready for motherhood, then at least more prepared than she had been a week earlier.

That Monday, Gold arrived to pick her up after class, as agreed. He was his usual polite self, but more cool and reserved, and remained largely silent during her medical appointment. She wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or not. Dr Jekyll clucked over her weight again, but said that otherwise she and the baby were doing well. Gold walked her back to the car, her arm linked through his, cane picking its way across the parking lot.

“Not long now,” said Belle.

“No.”

He glanced across at her.

“Are you nervous?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes,” she admitted. “Mainly because it’s all a new thing, you know? I can read a hundred books on childbirth, but until I actually go through it…” 

She shrugged, unsure she was making herself clear, but he nodded as if he understood. Belle put her head to the side.

“What about you?” she asked. “Are you nervous?”

“Oh, I’m terrified,” he said automatically, and closed his eyes, looking as though he wanted to bite his tongue.

“Why?” she asked.

Gold seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then opened his eyes, giving her a smile that didn’t quite reach them.

“Well, as you said, it’s all new.”

“You’re not the one who has to give birth,” she said, giving him a wry smile.

“No,” he said. “Of course not. I didn’t mean that.”

“Then what?” she asked gently, and he sighed, looking as though he wished he hadn’t said anything. The wind ruffled his hair, the sun gleaming on silver strands.

“It’s what comes afterwards, I suppose,” he said hesitantly. “Raising our child. Keeping it safe. Being - enough.” 

“I guess,” she said slowly. “There are no guarantees in life, are there? I suppose we just have to do the best we can. Do what’s in our child’s best interests.”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Exactly.”

Belle’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Here’s the car.”

He dug in his pocket for his car keys as they approached the Cadillac, and Belle eyed him as he busied himself opening the door and helping her in. She wondered what he had meant, what his true fears were over becoming a father. Whether he would ever let her in enough to find out.

He remained silent on the drive back to her apartment, and she was unwilling to break it. Gold parked up, glancing across at her.

“Do you mind if I come up?” he asked. “There are a couple of things I’d like to discuss.”

“Okay,” she said. “You can see the nursery. It’s all ready.”

The briefest hint of a smile curved his lips.

“Good.”

The silence between them was still thick and heavy as they took the elevator upwards, and Belle could feel it, like an itch between her shoulder blades as she led him down the corridor to the apartment. Her hand shook a little as she unlocked the door, and she glanced over her shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Thank you.”

Once inside, Belle hurried to the kitchen, putting water on to boil and getting out cups. Gold hadn’t followed her, and she imagined he had gone to check out the nursery. He followed after a few minutes with the hint of a smile in his eyes.

“It looks good,” he said. “You and your friends did a fine job.”

“Many hands, and all that.”

“Yes.” He looked around the kitchen, with its new terracotta walls. “This is nice, too. When you make a decision on the other rooms, just let me know. We can order the colours.”

“Thank you.”

Gold reached into his coat, bringing out a thick envelope folded lengthways and dropping it on the kitchen table.

“The draft of our agreement, and the papers for the property transfer,” he said. “I thought I’d hold off on the appointment with my lawyer until you had a chance to go through them.” 

“Oh, right. Sure.” 

Belle picked up the envelope, sliding out a thick sheaf of papers and dropping them onto the table. She flattened them out, seeing their names in harsh black ink against white paper. Two opposing sides signing a fragile peace treaty that would continue for the next twenty years or more. The thought was exhausting.

“She’s willing to discuss any amendments you might propose,” he went on. “As am I. Within reason.”

“Who decides what’s reasonable?” she asked dryly, flicking through the pages without reading them.

“Given that we’re both adults, I’d like to think we both have a say.” 

His tone matched hers, and it made her want to roll her eyes. The kettle boiled, and Belle dropped the papers on the table, going to pour the water into the teapot. She heard a low click on the floor behind her as Gold took a step closer.

“Did you find a lawyer yet?” he asked, and Belle turned, leaning back against the counter with arms folded.

“No.”

Gold sighed, looking as weary as she felt.

“Look, you really should get your own legal advice,” he said. “It won’t be that expensive, and besides, you should have enough to pay for it now. The money cleared into your account, I presume? The first payment? I made it weekly, as you asked. You’ll get the same this week.”

“Yes, it did,” she said. “Thank you. It’s not that. I guess - well, I guess I haven’t had a chance to think about it.”

“My lawyer will ask the same question when it comes to signing the papers,” he said. “So I suggest you look into that this week. I want this done.”

“Why the hurry?” she asked, baulking at being given what felt like an instruction. “The baby’s not due for over a month.”

“Yes, and babies come early all the time,” he said testily. “I’d really like our agreement to be signed and sealed before that happens. To ensure there are no misunderstandings.”

“You said this was just a formality,” she pointed out, gesturing to the papers, and Gold’s jaw tightened.

“So if you could get some advice and _ formally _ sign it, I’d be obliged.”

“You seem awfully keen to give away a valuable apartment.”

“I’m awfully keen to ensure my child has a secure and comfortable home,” he said evenly. “I didn’t realise this was something to cause suspicion on your part.”

“I just know that you never agree to anything that doesn’t benefit you,” she said.

His eyes flashed darkly as he took a step closer, and she felt a lurch in her belly, the first sign of his anger sparking the memory of bruising kisses and frenzied hands.

“Could you please try to put aside your own hurt pride for five fucking minutes and consider that I want what’s best for both you and the child?” he growled. “Everything’s there, in black and white. I am literally telling you to go and seek independent legal advice. Quite how that makes me the villain of the piece I have no idea.”

“I - I didn’t call you a _ villain_...”

“You didn’t have to,” he said coldly. “It’s clear in every look, every glance, every way in which you want me as far away from you as possible. It’s clear in the fact that it took you five months to bloody well tell me I was to be a father. It’s clear that you don’t want me in your life, which means that you don’t want me in our child’s life either.”

“I didn’t _ say _that—” 

“Hear me now, Belle,” he interrupted, raising a finger, “and let me make myself _ crystal fucking clear_. The child is mine, too, and I _ will _have what’s mine. Do you understand?”

Gold could feel his anger simmering, a low-down, burning heat. Belle glared at him, jaw set and blue eyes flashing as she faced him down. Her cheeks were flushed, her chest heaving. She was magnificent.

“Our child will know its father,” she said stiffly. “I’ll get some legal advice before signing the papers. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he said softly. “So do you think we can dispense with the hostilities?”

“Fine,” she said curtly.

“Fine.”

She turned away, taking cups and saucers to the table and going to the fridge for milk. Gold ran a hand over his face with a deep sigh, letting the tension drain out of him.

“Belle, I don’t want things to be like this,” he said quietly. “I don’t want us to be antagonising each other every time we meet.”

She paused, head down, her shoulders slumped a little.

“No,” she said. “Nor do I.”

She put the milk on the table, turning back for the teapot and setting that down on one of the iron trivets.

“Good,” he said. “In that case, could you please tell me what I need to do to make things better between us?”

“I’m not sure there’s anything you _ can _ do,” she muttered, snatching up a cloth and wiping some drops of water from the counter. “It’s not you, anyway, it’s me.”

“Doesn’t that usually mean the exact opposite?”

Belle tossed the cloth into the sink and leaned on the counter with a heavy sigh, arms locked and head down. After a moment she turned, and her jaw was set again, her chin raised.

“I still love you,” she said abruptly. “I probably always will, idiot that I am. But I can’t trust you. And without trust, there’s nothing. You can’t build something if the foundations are rotten.”

The brief spark of joy at hearing that she loved him was almost immediately snuffed out.

“You - you don’t trust me?” he said numbly.

“No.”

There was a moment of silence, and he shook his head.

“But - but I’ve done what you asked,” he said. “When you needed me to come to Boston, I came. When you needed space, I left. The apartment, healthcare, money… Everything you needed, I’ve given you without question. What is it that you don’t trust?”

“You really have to ask me that?” she said flatly.

“Yes!”

Belle put her hands on her hips, raising a brow.

“I worry that one day you’ll get bored,” she said. “That you’ll suddenly decide that fatherhood isn't what you wanted after all, and you’ll leave.”

It was like a blow to the chest. He felt winded, and swallowed hard, his eyes widening

“I would _ never _ do that!” he said hoarsely.

“Why not?” she asked, her voice thin. “You did it to me. You picked me up and played with me until you got bored, then you threw me away. I’ll be damned if I’ll let you do that to our child.”

Gold could feel a tide of rage and indignation rise up inside him.

“I would tear apart the _ world _ for this baby!” he snapped, gesturing with the flat of his hand.

“It doesn’t need your _ anger_, Alex, it needs your _ love_!” she insisted, lifting her arms and letting them fall. “Are you even capable of showing it any? How do I know you won’t break its heart like you broke mine?”

“Don’t you dare say that!” he spat, anger roughening his voice. “I won’t let you keep my child from me! I can’t do this again! I _ won’t_!”

Belle had opened her mouth angrily, but snapped it shut, looking puzzled.

“Again?” she repeated. “What do you mean ‘again’?”

Gold stared at her, a high-pitched ringing in his ears as panic set in.

“Nothing,” he said immediately. “I just meant - I meant—”

“Why did you say ‘again’?” she persisted, and he stepped back from her, heading for the door.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” he said, his hand shaking as he reached for the handle. “I think it’s best if we talk about this some other time.”

“Alex, don’t you dare walk out on me!”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Alexander!”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ashmarie220 prompted: 6 "I don't want to talk"

Gold had driven back to Storybrooke in a daze, keeping his eyes on the road ahead and concentrating as hard as he could on every turn of the wheel, every change in the landscape. It was a vain attempt to stop his brain from replaying his last conversation with Belle, stuck in a loop of hearing that she loved him, but didn’t trust him. Joy and pain, turning over and over in his mind, interspersed with his own unintentional outburst about the child he had lost. She had noticed his slip, had pressed him on it, and like a coward, he had run away rather than face the truth and deal with it. Just as he had been doing ever since he met her. Little wonder she didn’t trust him.

She had tried to call several times, but he had ignored every frantic ring of his phone, telling himself it was important to keep his attention on the road. After an hour or so she appeared to give up, and so he had only the turmoil of his thoughts for company as he headed north towards Storybrooke. It was only delaying the inevitable, of course. He knew that all too well.

It was dark when he got to the town, and rather than go home, he went to his shop. Being alone in the house would only mean he had nothing to distract from his own dark thoughts, and he needed a way to block them out. He needed something to do.

The shop was cold and dark, so after locking the door he went through to the back room, turning on the lights and flicking the switch for the heating. He made himself some coffee while he waited for the room to warm up a little, keeping his coat on. The cot in the corner, where he and Belle had spent many a pleasant afternoon, would do for a bed for the night, if he ever felt the urge to sleep.

He drank the coffee standing up, pacing back and forth across the room as it scalded his lips and tongue and traced a line of fire down his throat. The old toy rabbit gazed at him sadly from its usual position on the shelf, black bead eyes seeming to follow him around the room, as though judging every one of his failings. Just as Belle would. Just as he deserved. Gold squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold in the emotions that raged and swelled inside him, trying to push them down and snuff them out. It didn’t work, and he told himself he had been running from the truth for too long. He knew Belle; she wouldn’t let this go, not with her determination, her curiosity. She would never give up. He would have to face her eventually. He would have to face what he had done.

Growling under his breath, he set down the coffee cup and went to the cabinet to fish out a whisky glass and the bottle of single malt he kept there. Perhaps a drink or five would shut his rambling mind up for long enough to get some work done. He poured himself a large one, taking the glass and bottle to the workbench. The music box that he had started to restore was still sitting on its square of black velvet, its mechanism a jumble of pieces in a small plastic tub beside it. He had cleaned everything meticulously, had fixed one of the cogs and sourced a replacement for the other, and it was ready and waiting for him to fix it. As it had been for the past month.

A delicate and intricate job like this was just what he needed, and he was unsure why he had been ignoring it in favour of other, simpler tasks like chasing up rent arrears. Admittedly everything was a jumbled mess, and he hadn’t been sure where to start. Gold pursed his lips, drumming his fingers on the bench as he thought it over. Perhaps if he took his time, and laid everything out, looked at each element. He would be able to see the whole thing, recognise each part for what it is, handle it carefully until he understood how the pieces fitted together. Then with time, and patience, and attention, it could be made whole again. It could once more be a thing of beauty, as it was meant to be.

He took a sip of the whisky, savouring the taste of it, and took off his coat and jacket, grabbing his leather apron and tying it on over his waistcoat. This would be an excellent way to pass the time while he worked out what he was going to say to Belle.

* * *

He woke with a snort to find his head down on the square of black velvet, a cog-shaped dent in one cheek and an overwhelming need to go to the bathroom. There was a foul taste in his mouth, a mixture of coffee and whisky that accounted for his pounding headache. He groaned as he straightened up, stiff and sore from going to sleep in a sitting position. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows, and he pushed to his feet, grimacing. Staggering through to the bathroom, he ignored his reflection in the mirror, fairly certain that he had no desire to see how he looked after a night of drinking until he passed out on the workbench. At least it looked as though he had made some progress with the music box, although he would have to double-check everything he had done.

Once he had washed his hands and face and scrubbed his teeth, he felt a little better, and put on some coffee while he changed his shirt for one of the clean ones he kept in the shop. His phone was still in his pocket, and fast running out of power, so he plugged in the charger, setting the phone on the counter and staring at it as though it would bite him. He could see from his notifications that he had numerous missed calls and a voicemail message, and he was willing to bet Belle was behind them all. Taking a deep breath, and telling himself to stop being a bloody coward, he poured himself a cup of coffee, flicked at the phone screen to turn on the speaker, and dialled his voicemail.

When the connection was made, he sat down on the edge of the cot, listening to the automated announcement about his message, and the beep that followed. Belle’s voice rang out, sharper than usual, direct and insistent. 

“Alex, we need to talk,” she said impatiently. “Why did you run off like that? What, I ask you a question you don’t want to answer, and you bolt? What _ is _this?”

She paused.

“You said ‘again’,” she said. “You said you can’t go through this ‘again’. What did you mean?”

He could hear her rapid breathing, agitation plain in the tone of her voice. He would have to face it, he knew that. He would have to tell her. 

“Do you have another child?” she asked then. “A child you don’t _ see_? You don’t think this is something I needed to know? What is _ wrong _with you?”

A moment of silence. Gold took a sip of his coffee, staring at the phone as though Belle would somehow materialise out of it, a spectral visitor sent to hold him to account for his many sins.

“We have a baby waiting to come into this world,” she went on. “A baby that will be born way before you and I can even _ start _ to work out what we’ll be to each other, and you choose to _ run away_? Are you in Storybrooke? Are you still in Boston? I need you to call me, damn you! I need y—I need to talk to you!”

Gold took another drink, letting the coffee spread across his tongue. Belle sighed, the sound a little distorted.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, more calmly. “You don’t just get to - to _ drop _something like that on me and then leave, do you understand?”

More silence, but for the sound of her breathing. Belle clicked her tongue, a tiny noise of frustration.

“I’m not having this conversation with your bloody voicemail,” she said. “Call me.”

There was a click as she hung up, and Gold sighed, setting down his cup and running his hands over his face. The phone started running through his saved messages, and he got up to turn it off, shoving it back in his pocket and snatching up his coffee again. He felt like hurling the cup against the wall, but breaking things wouldn’t solve anything. It never had. He needed to try to mend what was broken between them. Which meant trying to fix what was broken inside himself. He wasn’t sure if it was possible, but he owed it to his child, and to Belle, to at least try.

Mind made up, he drank the last of his coffee, checking the time before striding from the shop. The spring sun was bright and glaring, and it was a relief to put on sunglasses as he made his way swiftly down the street. Townsfolk were up and about, the shops just beginning to open, and Gold shoved open the door that led to Dr Archibald Hopper’s office, taking the stairs two at a time and pounding on the door before he could lose his nerve. Dr Hopper opened it, clearly having just entered his office. His flat tweed cap was still pulled down on his sandy curls, his coat on, and he was blinking rapidly behind his glasses.

“Mr Gold,” he said, looking puzzled. “Are - are you here for the rent?”

“Were you late in paying it?” asked Gold, in a cool tone.

“No, of course not.”

“Then let’s consider the other reason I might be knocking on your door, Dr Hopper,” he said. “You did once say it was always open, as I recall.”

“Of - of course.”

His eyes softened with a kindliness that made Gold stiffen instinctively. Dr Hopper stepped to the side, holding open the door.

“Please,” he said. “Come on in. I have an appointment in half an hour, but I’m free until then.”

“I think it’ll take a damn sight longer than half an hour,” muttered Gold.

“Oh, I wasn’t suggesting otherwise,” said Dr Hopper calmly. “But perhaps you can tell me what’s troubling you, and you and I can agree on a timetable for any further visits. Does that sound like a way forward?”

Gold hesitated, but nodded, taking a step into the office. It was decorated in calming, neutral shades, with two comfortable chairs and a long couch set with cushions. A desk was in the corner by a bookshelf stuffed with texts on medical and psychiatric topics. Gold resisted the almost overwhelming urge to turn on his heel and bolt out of the door.

“Please, take a seat,” said Dr Hopper, shrugging out of his coat.

After a moment of uncertainty, he sat down on the edge of the couch, laying his cane to the side and resting his elbows on his thighs, his fingers threading together. Dr Hopper took a chair to the left. He hadn’t picked up a notebook, and was merely sitting there, an expectant look on his face. Gold tried to quell the seething, crawling sense of shame at having come to him. At having to ask for help.

"I've never done this before," he said awkwardly. "I have no idea what you expect of me, and I don't even know if I should be here."

"Well." Dr Hopper's voice was calm and soothing. "First of all, let me say something that I hope you'll find reassuring. Firstly, there's no shame in asking for help. It's a sign of personal strength, not weakness."

_Tell that to my father_, thought Gold sourly, but he said nothing. He wasn't even sure he wanted to think about his father, never mind discuss him with Dr Hopper.

"Fine, yes, strength," he said dismissively, moving his hand in a turning motion as though it would enable him to get through the whole excruciating situation more quickly. "What else?"

"I also want to reassure you that whatever you may say to me, Mr Gold, it stays within this room," said Dr Hopper. "There are a few exceptions to confidentiality, which I'd be happy to go through."

"Can we just get on with it?" snapped Gold, and then sighed and ran his hands over his face. "Sorry."

"That's okay," said Dr Hopper calmly. "Let's skip the intro. Why don't you tell me why you're here?"

Gold hesitated.

"I think I need to talk to someone."

"Go on."

"That's it."

There was a moment of silence. He could feel nerves twisting and knotting in his belly, a rising urge to declare the whole thing a waste of time and storm out. He bit the insides of his cheeks hard.

“So.” Dr Hopper gave him a pleasant, open smile, spreading his hands. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I don’t want to talk,” said Gold immediately.

“Okay.”

There was silence. He looked down at where his fingers were laced together, his heart thumping from the anxiety of being in a highly uncomfortable situation that he knew he couldn’t escape. A clock ticked on the wall, the second hand marking the passage of time. Twenty-three minutes to go. Less, if he wanted to be out of there before the next patient showed up. Which he absolutely did. Gold waited for Dr Hopper to speak, to ask him something. When he didn’t, Gold felt compelled to fill the silence on his own.

“I don’t _ want _to talk,” he repeated heavily. “But - but I think I _have_ to. I think it’s my only chance.”

“For what?”

“For a healthy relationship with the mother of my child.”

He glanced up, and to his credit Dr Hopper didn’t look surprised. Merely curious.

“I didn’t know you had a child,” he said. “Son or daughter?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “Belle is due to give birth next month. Yesterday I drove back from Boston, where she lives now.”

He looked at Dr Hopper steadily, waiting for him to make the connection, and saw the light in his eyes when it happened.

“Belle…” he said carefully. “Belle French? Moe French’s daughter?”

“The very same.”

“I see.”

Dr Hopper nodded, but it was a brisk nod, simply confirming his assumption. There was no judgement there, no wrinkle of the brow suggesting disdain over the age difference, and Gold felt himself relax a little.

“How do you feel about becoming a father?” asked Dr Hopper.

“Oh, I’m delighted,” he said immediately. “That’s not the issue. At least - at least not directly.”

“You mentioned your relationship with Belle needing to be better,” said Dr Hopper. “Why don’t you tell me about her?”

“What do you want to know?”

“How long have you been together?”

“We’re not,” said Gold quietly. “We had a - we were seeing each other for perhaps a year. In secret.”

“And when did this end?”

“Last summer,” he said, dropping his eyes. “I ended it. I pushed her away. I pushed her away so - so _brutally_ she would never want to come back.”

"But she's back in your life."

"Because of the baby, yes," he said. "If not for that I would never have seen her again. It would be better for her, but we are where we are."

"So the two of you had a difficult break-up, and later you found out about the baby, and you're trying to rebuild your relationship, is that right?"

Gold shrugged, but nodded.

"I know things have to be better between us," he said. "For the sake of the baby, things have to be better. I know that." 

"Let's go back a little," said Dr Hopper. "You said you were the one to end the relationship."

"Yes."

“Why?”

Gold hesitated. A lie was dancing on the tip of his tongue. It would have been easy to give it life, to tell Dr Hopper the same lies he had told Belle, that he had tried to tell himself. The same lies that had almost led to him losing another child. He swallowed hard, straightening a little.

“She told me she loved me.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“Terrified,” he whispered.

Dr Hopper nodded slowly.

“Can you tell me why?”

“No.” Gold winced at the lie. “Yes. Because I - I think I loved her too. No. I _ love _her. I love her now.”

“And that scared you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew it was hopeless,” said Gold impatiently. “Us. I knew it - it couldn’t work. Not really. Not in a way that would make her happy.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because…” Gold shifted in agitation. “Because I couldn’t give her what she needed. What she deserved.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have - I have nothing to give!” he insisted, tapping his chest. “I’m empty. Hollow. Inside, there’s - there’s nothing. A void. Darkness just - just _swallowing _anything good I try to hold onto, and I didn't want that for her.”

He wasn’t sure he was making sense, letting the words tumble out of him after so many years of keeping everything tamped down, and so he snapped his mouth shut. There was silence for a moment.

“How long have you felt like this?” asked Dr Hopper eventually, and he sat back a little, letting out a heavy sigh.

“I don’t know,” he said wearily, scratching at the back of his neck. “Decades, I suppose.”

“Was there ever a time when something filled that void?” asked Dr Hopper. “A time when you felt less - empty?”

Gold hesitated.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “When I had my son.”

“But I thought—” Dr Hopper cut off, nodding. “I see. You had another child? Some time ago?”

“Yes.” It was barely audible, the tiniest exhalation.

“What happened to your son?”

Gold felt his mouth twitch, his fingers twisting around each other.

“I lost him.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

He did sound sorry. He sounded sincere, and Gold felt himself relax a little more.

“I don’t mean he’s dead,” he said. “At least - at least if he is, I never heard of it. He’s just lost. Lost to me, anyway. His mother took him from me, and I spent years looking for him. Nothing. I have no idea where he is, or what happened to him.”

“That must be incredibly painful.”

Gold didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded. He could feel emotions rising up inside him, the lake of tears he had buried deep being forced upwards and making his eyes sting. _ God, I can’t break down! Not now, not here! _

“Is Belle aware of your - loss?” asked Dr Hopper carefully, and Gold shook his head.

“I have to tell her,” he said. “I know that.”

“I think that would be a good start,” agreed Dr Hopper. “Reliving painful episodes is difficult, but honesty with those we love is essential. If you want to improve your relationship with her, you need to build a solid foundation. That takes openness, trust. Allowing each other to be vulnerable.”

Gold grimaced, shaking his head.

“That’s - that’s not gonna be easy.”

“I’m not going to sit here and pretend that the two of you will make things better with one conversation,” said Dr Hopper. “But opening that dialogue is an excellent first step. Do you think you can do that?”

“I can try.”

“Good. Do you want to arrange to see me on a regular basis?”

“I think so,” said Gold, and nodded. “Yes.”

“It may be useful for you to attend as a couple,” added Dr Hopper. “If you think she would be open to it.”

Gold winced, shaking his head.

“We’re not a couple,” he said. “I don’t know whether that will ever change. I don’t - I don’t know if any of this will help, I just know I have to try something.”

“Right.” Dr Hopper smiled at him. “In that case why don’t you and I agree on a schedule? If things change, you can let me know.”

Gold licked his lips, and nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “Yes. Good.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: 7: "You're a horrible person"

After talking to Dr Hopper, and arranging a series of appointments to see him, Gold felt, if not exactly better, then certainly a little calmer. After the initial visit to Dr Hopper’s office, after blurting out a few choice fears and deep regrets, he walked slowly back to the pawn shop, locked the door, sat down in the back room, and wept.

He cried for a long time, the deep lake of tears he had kept buried for what felt like decades pouring out of him, his body shaking with sobs. When he had no more tears in him, he sat for a while to catch his breath, his eyes stinging, throat hurting. He felt drained, spent, as though until that moment, his inner pain had been all that had kept him alive. Perhaps it was true.

His legs shook a little as he stood, and he leaned on the workbench with both hands, taking deep breaths. Belle. He would have to see Belle, to talk to her. He would have to tell her everything, to strip himself bare and share his deepest fears, his greatest regrets. He owed her that and more. Glancing up, he focused on the old toy rabbit on its shelf, and nodded to himself. It was time.

Pushing himself upright, he grasped his cane and stepped forward, snatching the rabbit from the shelf and storming back through the shop. Four hours to Boston. Four hours to think of what to say to her.

* * *

Belle had spent a restless night after trying and failing to get in touch with Gold. He had not responded to her message, and she was alternating between anger at him for blatantly dodging the issue and worry that something had happened to him. She managed to snatch a few hours of sleep, and was grainy-eyed and irritable when she woke, stomping around the apartment as she readied herself for class. Her belly seemed to have grown in the night, and she muttered under her breath as she rooted through her wardrobe for something to wear, tossing aside those outfits she discarded.

It was raining, the clouds dark and heavy, and she felt her mood worsen as she trudged to the university cafeteria. Emma seemed to pick up on it, simply telling her to grab a table while she got the drinks. Belle accepted a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows, and gave Emma a grateful, somewhat wobbly smile.

“So,” said Emma, setting her coffee on the table. “What did he do?”

Belle sighed.

“Do you have like a sixth sense or something?” she asked wryly, and Emma shrugged.

“I want to be a cop, it’s my job to sniff out guys being back on their bullshit.”

“Okay… Well, you’re not wrong.”

“I’m listening.” 

Belle poked at the marshmallows, making them bob in the chocolate before plucking one out and eating it. She licked cream from her fingers. 

“I think he already had a kid,” she said, and Emma almost spat out her coffee.

_ “What?” _

Belle sighed.

“I told him I loved him,” she said. “I figured you were right, that it would only eat away at me if I didn’t. So I told him. And I told him I couldn’t trust him.”

“Understandable.”

“Not if you’re him, apparently,” she said, her mouth twisting. “So I explained _ why _I couldn’t trust him, how I thought maybe one day he’d get bored of being a dad and - and I couldn’t bear for him to put our child through what he put me through.”

Emma sipped at her coffee.

“Go on.”

“And he kind of lost it,” said Belle. “Yelled something about not letting me keep his child from him. He said ‘I can’t go through this again. I won’t’.”

Emma stared at her for a moment.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Belle poked at her marshmallows again.

“Well, did you ask him about it?”

“Oh yeah.” Belle’s tone was dry. “He couldn’t get out of the place fast enough.”

“Seriously, he _ ran away_?”

“Like Satan himself was after him.” Belle took a drink of her chocolate, savouring the sweet taste. “I tried calling him, but so far he’s not picking up. Left a message telling him to call, but—” She shrugged, pulling a face, and set down her cup.

“Sure sounds as though he’s had a kid before, and lost it,” said Emma. “This is the first you’ve heard of it?”

“Absolutely.” Belle cupped her hands around the chocolate. “He’s never mentioned a child. Why not? Why doesn’t he see it, why the secrecy?”

“Maybe the mother got full custody or something,” mused Emma. “No contact allowed. I guess that’s enough to make anyone bitter.”

Belle hesitated.

“Well, that would have to be for a good reason, right?” she said. “None of which I want to think about.”

“You’re gonna have to think about it,” said Emma. “Sorry, honey, but you’ve admitted to me that you don’t really know the guy, or anything about his past. For all you know he made his money running a meth lab. Maybe the mother decided there was no way she wanted the kid around that.”

Belle shook her head.

“I don’t believe that,” she said. “I don’t believe he’d do that. He can be a vicious piece of shit when he wants, but drug dealing? Not his style.”

“How do you know?”

“I _ know_,” said Belle firmly. “Besides, from the little he said, he really wanted to stay in contact with his child. But there aren’t even any pictures in his house, nothing like that.”

“So maybe it’s worse,” said Emma, looking sad. “Maybe the kid died.”

“That thought did occur to me,” admitted Belle. “God, if that’s true, it’s awful. My baby hasn’t even been born yet, and I already know I’d defend it to the death.”

“I can’t imagine what losing Henry would do to me,” agreed Emma, and Belle shuddered, pressing a hand to her belly.

“Okay, speculating about this isn’t helping,” she said. “I need him to talk to me about it, but getting him to open up about anything is next to impossible.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t a trivial thing, right?” said Emma. “He can’t keep this from you, and he can’t ignore you forever. Not if he wants to be a dad to this baby.”

“Oh, I know,” agreed Belle, picking up her chocolate again. “But I’m not chasing after him to Maine. I’ve asked him to call me, so he can damn well call.”

“Well, it’s not like we’re short of things to do while we wait,” said Emma, glancing at her watch and pulling a face. “Drink up, we need to get to class.”

* * *

Attending class was like a balm to Belle’s soul. For a start, it kept her busy, and she managed to get through the morning without thinking about the father of her child. She was also making good progress on the paper she was writing, and spent much of the afternoon in the library with her laptop. By the time four o’clock came, and she was due to meet Emma for a post-class Danish and coffee, she felt reasonably calm. Emma was waiting near the top of the set of steps that led down to the quadrangle, tucked underneath the building overhang and gazing out at the rain. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, and Emma wrinkled her nose as the rain came down in heavy sheets.

“We could make a run for it,” suggested Belle tentatively.

“Or we could be sensible and wait for it to ease off.”

“Yeah, cause that looks _ so _likely.”

“A decaf latte isn’t worth breaking your neck over.”

“I guess.” Belle looked over her shoulder. “Shall we go back inside? We can hang out in the library, check again in fifteen minutes.”

“Good idea.”

Belle turned on her toes, striding back towards the building entrance, and at that moment a solid body collided with her, knocking her off-balance. It was as though the world around her had suddenly slowed, time crawling as she saw Emma’s look of shock. She tried to reach out to grab at the railing, to grasp Emma’s hand, but it was as though the air had thickened to jelly, slowing her movements, and then she was falling.

Hitting the ground didn’t hurt, but she had fallen at the top of the steps, and rolling down them definitely did. Belle put out a hand to stop herself, landing hard enough to knock the breath from her. She let out a hoarse cry, her body a mass of pain. Rain was drenching her, pouring over her face and in her eyes. She tried to lift her arm to shield herself, and found that she couldn’t. Tears began leaking from her eyes, and Emma’s worried face came into view, the rain plastering her blonde hair to her head.

“Belle! Shit, are you okay?”

“No,” Belle whimpered. “Arm hurts. Everything hurts.”

“Shit. Shitshitshit.” Emma looked up, glaring at something. “Yeah, _you_! You’re a horrible person! You knocked a fucking _ pregnant woman over, _you asshole!”

That last was yelled out, clearly aimed at whoever had knocked Belle flying, but Emma shook her head, muttering under her breath as she dug in her pocket for her phone.

“Does that insurance Gold got you cover an ambulance?” she asked, as she dialled.

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m calling one.”

Belle nodded weakly, barely noticing when Emma tore off her coat and laid it over her. A crowd of onlookers had formed, a young man offering to hold his umbrella over them to keep some of the rain off. Belle felt as though she was somewhat detached from her body, dimly aware of the pain wrapped around her like a shroud, but Emma stroked her hair and spoke soothing words of encouragement. The sound of sirens came quickly, and there was the rhythmic splashing of rapidly approaching feet on wet ground. Emma stood.

“She fell down the steps,” she said. “Name’s Belle French. She’s eight months pregnant. Says her arm hurts.”

“Thanks. Okay, Belle, let’s take a look at that arm.”

A dark-haired woman with an air of calm efficiency gently began running her hands over Belle’s limbs, and a jolt of pain went through her, making her cry out.

“Yeah, definitely broken.” The woman sat back on her heels. “Belle, my name’s Dorothy, and I’m an EMT. You have any pain anywhere else?”

Belle nodded, and winced as a spasm went through her belly.

“My baby,” she whispered.

“You have pain in your abdomen?” Dorothy nodded firmly, and turned to yell over her shoulder. “Gurney!”

Belle closed her eyes, listening to the flurry of activity around her, and within minutes she was lying on a gurney in the back of the ambulance, Emma seated next to her. The ambulance began moving, the sirens sounding as they set off, and Emma grasped the side of the gurney as the ambulance turned a corner at speed. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked, and Belle tried to swallow.

“Hurts,” she said. “My arm, mainly, but it’s the baby I’m worried about.”

“Hey.” Emma reached out to put a gentle hand on hers. “You’re both gonna be _ fine_. There’s no alternative to even consider, right?”

“Right,” whispered Belle, trying not to think of what the alternative might be.

“Want me to call Gold?” asked Emma, and Belle nodded, wincing as another spasm went through her.

“If you can actually reach him, sure. Phone’s in my bag. You’ll have to dial.”

Emma rummaged in the bag, pulling out the phone.

“It’s asking for a PIN.”

“1202.”

Emma stabbed at the screen.

“Okay, I’m in.”

“Top name in contacts,” added Belle, and Emma raised a brow as she flicked at the screen with her thumb.

“It says ‘Grade A. Arsehole’.”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

Emma snickered as she dialled the number.

* * *

Gold was just parking up outside his hotel when the call came through. He stared at Belle’s number for a moment, then sighed to himself. _ You need to talk to her. May as well be now, you’ve avoided her for too long as it is. You don’t have to unburden your soul right here and now, just agree to meet and talk with her, idiot! _

Picking up the phone, he took a deep, calming breath before swiping at the screen.

“Belle,” he said, pleased at how calm his voice sounded.

“Uh - actually it’s not,” came a vaguely familiar voice. “It’s Emma. Emma Cassidy? Belle’s friend?”

“Oh.” Gold was momentarily confused. “Isn’t this Belle’s number?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m calling. I’m on the way to the hospital with her.”

It felt as though iced water was being slowly poured over his head, trickling down over every inch of his body and chilling him to the core. Gold’s mouth was dry, his heart thumping.

“Hospital?” he whispered.

“She’s okay,” said Emma hastily. “At least - at least she will be. Okay, she has a broken arm, but—”

“A broken _ arm_?”

“She fell.”

“Which hospital?” he demanded.

“Uh - Misthaven.”

“On my way,” he said curtly, and hung up. 

He drove as quickly as the evening traffic would let him, reaching the hospital and almost running to the E.R. His leg was killing him by the time he reached the waiting area, and the young blonde woman he remembered from Belle’s apartment jumped out of a chair on seeing him. Her eyes were wide and frightened, and he suspected his own were the same.

“Where is she?” he asked, aware that his voice sounded rough.

“They took her in. She was having pain in her belly, so they wanted to check the baby was okay.”

She was soaked through, her hair hanging in damp tangles around her shoulders, and Gold shrugged out of his overcoat, draping it around her.

“I’m gonna see her,” he said, as she tugged the wool coat around herself with a look of relief. “I’ll let you know how she is.”

Seeing Belle in a hospital gown with her rounded belly pushing up the front of it made a ripple of fear go through him, but she nodded to him, looking far calmer than he felt. There was a nasty scrape on her forehead, and her cheek looked bruised, She was holding her arm strangely, and he remembered Emma saying she had broken it.

“Belle!” he breathed, hurrying to her side. “How are you? How’s the baby?”

“Just waiting for an ultrasound,” she said. “I think it’s fine. I had a few pains, but they’re gone now.”

She winced, shifting position a little, and he took the chair by the bed, reaching out to grasp the hand on her free arm.

“Emma said you fell,” he pressed, and she pulled a face.

“Yeah. Took a tumble down some steps.” 

“How on earth did you manage that?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” she snapped.

“Of course not,” he said lamely. “Sorry.”

Belle sighed, glancing away, and after a moment he released her hand, letting his own slide back onto his lap. She still wasn’t looking at him.

“Your arm looks bad,” he said, wanting to fill the silence, and Belle looked around. 

“Yeah,” she said, in a subdued tone. “I think I hit every step on the way down. I’m probably a mass of bruises.”

“Are they looking after you?” he asked. “Did they give you pain relief?”

“Yeah. Just waiting for it to kick in, I guess.”

More silence: a tense, heavy atmosphere developing between them. He wanted to speak, to make it lift, but his tongue seemed to be glued to the roof of his mouth. In the end it was Belle that broke it.

"You didn't call me back," she said quietly.

"No." His voice was barely more than a whisper. "I - I didn't know what to say."

"Hmm." She was quiet for a moment. "Well, that's gonna have to change."

“Belle French?”

Gold looked around as a doctor wandered into the room with a chart in his hand and glasses perched on the end of his nose.

“Okay,” he said. “Eight months pregnant, I see. A fall down some steps, a broken arm… You’ve had an exciting day, haven’t you?”

“Really not looking for it to be any more exciting, thanks,” said Belle dryly, and Gold smiled a little.

“Right, well, let’s have a look, shall we?” The doctor glanced at Gold. “I take it this is Dad?”

“Yeah, he’s the father.”

Belle sounded weary, as though she didn’t really want to acknowledge that he had anything to do with either her or the baby. He supposed it was the last thing she wanted to think about, in the circumstances.

“Let’s take a look and see how Baby’s doing, then.”

Gold could feel his heart thump as he waited for the image to show on the screen. The doctor moved the probe over her belly, slipping through the gel he had applied, and Gold felt his breath catch as the image appeared, a somewhat fuzzy mass that faded and reappeared, the unmistakable shape of a baby’s head. Its eyes were closed, its mouth pursed, tiny fingers twitching. Their baby. The child they had made in anger and grief and heartbreak, almost ready to come into the world. His heart was pounding in his chest, his skin tingling as he saw his child for the first time. He loved it already.

“You’ll be happy to know that Baby looks just fine,” said the doctor cheerfully. “We’ll run some more tests, get that arm fixed up, but you should be out of here today, Belle. Does that sound good?”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

The doctor turned off the ultrasound machine and wiped the gel from her belly, 

“Oh!” he said. “Feels like it’s kicking!”

“Yeah, I feel it.” Belle smiled faintly, and looked across at Gold. “Alex? You want to feel your baby kick?”

Gold’s mouth was dry, and he licked his lips.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Put your hand on me, then.”

The doctor got up to wash his hands, and Gold reached over to lay a shaking hand on Belle’s stomach, still cool and a little sticky from the gel. He gasped as he felt the kick, a sudden thump against his palm, and his face broke into a smile as he felt a burst of joy go through him.

“I’ll be back in just a minute,” said the doctor, and left the room.

The kicking came again, twice more.

“Feels like the baby’s getting ready to meet us, huh?” said Belle. “It’s only a few weeks away now.”

She said the words simply, a mere statement of time passing until the due date, but he could hear a deeper meaning behind them. A few short weeks for them to start building a better relationship, for him to start to open up and let her in. If he could. Emotion was making his throat want to close up, his eyes stinging with tears, and he swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

“Belle,” he said thickly. “I - I need to talk to you.”

He glanced up, and she was watching him, her gaze steady.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, you really do.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time, Gold rushed back to Boston when Belle broke her arm, and decided that it was time for the two of them to talk. It's going to be a slow process, but he makes a start in this chapter
> 
> @thespinningmeanie prompted: "Try not to fall again, sweetheart"

It was after midnight by the time the doctor told them they could leave, and even then they had to wait at the hospital pharmacy for Belle’s prescription of painkillers. The baby had been given the all-clear, and her scrapes and bruises had been treated, her arm put in a cast. She had broken it in two places, along with three of her fingers. Gold watched her absently running her left hand over the new cast, and wondered how she would cope with her dominant hand out of action. 

“Emma’s not still here, is she?” asked Belle, and Gold shook his head.

“She left earlier,” he said. “She had to get back for Henry. Says she’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

She looked small and broken, dark hair hanging around her face, her head bowed. Gold wanted to touch her, to give her whatever reassurance he could. He doubted it would be welcome, and he was worried about hurting her. She seemed to be bruised all over. He looked down at his hands, folded in his lap, and wished he felt less helpless.

“Are you still in pain?” he asked, and she wrinkled her nose.

“Yes, but it’s like I don’t really care about it,” she said. “The painkillers are working. I’ll be okay, I guess.”

“A pity it’s your right arm.”

“Yeah.” She sounded gloomy. “Don’t know what I’m gonna do about class.”

“I’m sure the university will be reasonable,” he said. “I presume you hadn’t intended to study right up until the birth, anyway.”

“No, but every hour counts, right?” she said. “I was planning on doing another couple of weeks, at least.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

“How are you with Library Science?”

It was said in a dry tone, but she sent him a brief, sad smile, as though letting him know she was joking.

“I was thinking of something more practical,” he said, and she looked thoughtful.

“Did you check into a hotel?” she asked.

“No.” He ran his hands over his face with a sigh. “Damn, I forgot to call about the room. I’d just pulled up outside when I got Emma’s call.”

Belle looked hesitant, and licked her lips almost nervously.

“It’s just - I thought maybe you could stay with me,” she said in a rush. “I’m gonna need help, like you said, and - and the baby’s due soon, and I can’t exactly change diapers with a broken arm, and I can’t rely on Emma, she has her own life and her own family to take care of, and - and I thought maybe you could take the spare room...”

Her voice trailed off, and she looked at him anxiously, chewing her lip. Gold nodded, a sense of relief flooding over him. She was willing to let him help her. That was a start.

“Of course,” he said. “I think that’s a good idea.”

Her mouth quirked in a faint smile, and she looked away again. One step at a time.

* * *

It was still raining when they left the hospital. Belle was subdued, the bruises on her face darker in the dim light. She limped as she walked, and Gold kept pace with her, trying to match his own uneven stride to hers. Raindrops bounced, showering their lower legs with droplets as they walked. Belle stumbled a little as they exited the hospital, feet splashing in the puddles that had formed, and Gold grasped her good arm firmly, steadying her.

“Try not to fall again, sweetheart,” he said quietly.

Belle glanced across at him, her lower lip trembling a little. She looked as though she wanted to cry, and he gestured in front of them, towards the parking lot.

“The car’s just beyond that sign,” he said. “Can you walk that far, or do you want me to pick you up here?”

“I’m okay,” she said wearily. “I just want to get home.”

They made the journey in silence for the most part, Gold stealing glances across at her. Since he had told her that he wanted to talk, and she had agreed, neither of them had raised the subject again. The hospital was not the place for the sort of conversation they needed to have, but now that it had been mentioned, it seemed to hang heavy in the air between them, an unwelcome presence. He wondered where the hell to start with it all. Bae. She needed to know about Bae. Though perhaps she wouldn’t want to get into it at one in the morning when she was doped up on painkillers. At least that would give him a little more time to think it over. He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, his voice sounding too loud in the silence. “I could make you something to eat when we get in.”

“I just need sleep,” she said listlessly. 

“Maybe just some chamomile tea, or something.”

“That’d be good.”

“I’ll make some.”

More silence.

“I don’t think the bed in the spare room has been made up,” she added. “I wasn’t exactly planning on having a sleepover.”

“I can make the bed,” he said, and glanced across again. “Would you like a bath? I know the doctor said not to get the plaster wet, so maybe a bath would be better than a shower.”

“In the morning,” she said tiredly.

She really didn’t want to stay up, then. He couldn’t help feeling relieved, even as he told himself he would have to face her eventually.

“Just tea and sleep, then.”

“Yeah.”

The word was spoken in a whisper, her head rolling to the side, and he fell silent again, letting her rest as he drove through Boston’s streets. 

The apartment building was eerily quiet when they entered, and even the elevator seemed unnaturally loud as they rode upwards. Belle looked as though she wanted to curl up and go to sleep right there, and Gold put a hand on the small of her back as they stepped out, guiding her along the corridor towards the apartment. She had difficulty getting out the key, and struggled to unlock the door, wincing as she tried to turn the key. He took it from her with a gentle word, opening the door to let her in. Belle nodded her thanks, not quite meeting his eyes. The apartment was warm, a soft light coming from the lamp in the lounge, and he steered her towards the couch, helping her to sit down. Belle let out a heavy sigh, letting her head roll back against the cushions.

“Just rest,” he said quietly. “I’ll make tea.”

She nodded wearily, and he made his way to the kitchen almost on tiptoe.

Finding his way around was easy enough—Belle hadn’t moved the groceries or utensils since he had moved her in—and he set the kettle to boil, getting out cups and the chamomile tea. He was a little hungry, and after a brief search of the cupboards he found a packet of chocolate chip cookies. Shoving one into his mouth, he opened the fridge and scanned the contents. Enough for a few different meal ideas. He could get more groceries in the morning, depending on what Belle wanted to eat.

The cookie was good, and Gold tucked the packet under his arm as he carried Belle’s tea through to her. She gave him a wan smile, shoulder lifting a little as she automatically tried to reach up with her right hand. She winced, face twisting, and he shook his head.

“I suspect that’ll take some getting used to,” he said.

“Yeah.”

She sounded weary, but took the cup from him and set it on the coffee table, followed by the packet of cookies. He hoped she would eat one, but she simply tossed it onto the table and went back to staring ahead. Gold felt awkward hovering near her, so he went back to the kitchen to fetch his own tea. When he entered the lounge, Belle had picked up her cup and was blowing on it to cool the tea. He set his cup down on the table and lowered himself onto the chair adjacent to the couch.

“I’ll need to go out and get my suitcase,” he said. “Are you okay to let me back in?”

Belle took a sip of her tea and winced.

“Just take the key,” she said. “I guess you’ll need to get a spare cut, if you’re going to stay here.”

“Oh, I have one,” he said. “I left it with Marco in case you had an emergency. I’ll pick it up in the morning.”

“Okay.”

Belle gazed into her cup. It looked as though she could barely keep her eyes open.

“Here, why don’t you go and get ready for bed?” he said gently. “Do you need help with anything?”

“I don’t know.” Teeth tugged at her lower lip. “I can manage to take my makeup off and brush my teeth, I guess.”

“Alright.” He sat back. “I’m just a shout away, understand?”

She eyed him cautiously, and nodded.

“Guess I’ll make a start, then.”

She pushed to her feet, wincing again, and shuffled towards the bedrooms, carrying her tea. He watched her go, anxiety prickling at his skin as he thought over how she would cope in the latter stages of pregnancy with one arm bound up in plaster. He was aware that she hated feeling helpless. Perhaps there were things he could do to limit her dependence on him, but for the moment he couldn’t think of any.

“Alex?”

A muffled call from the bedroom made him look up, and he pushed to his feet immediately. Belle had taken her coat off, but was struggling with her dress, mouth flattened in displeasure as she plucked at it, the shoulder on her injured side sticking out of the neckline. He could see that the dress had been put back on with the injured arm outside, the bodice buttoned loosely at the front to cover her breasts and her cardigan draped over the top like a cape and fastened with one button at her throat. 

“Can’t get it off,” she muttered. “The nurse dressed me.”

“Here, let me.”

He set his cane against the dresser, reaching up to unfasten the buttons. His fingers felt too large, too clumsy, but he pushed each button through its hole without fumbling them too much. The dress fell around her ankles, and Belle crossed her free arm over her chest, hiding her breasts in the lace cups of her bra, her eyes downcast.

“You need help with the rest of it?” he asked quietly.

“Could you unhook my bra?”

He nodded wordlessly, and she turned on her toes, showing him her back. Reaching up, he unhooked the bra, the back straps snapping back against her pale skin. Belle nodded.

“Thank you.”

“What about the boots?” he asked.

“No, I can manage. Thank you.”

“Okay.” He wavered, shifting from foot to foot and feeling as though he was very much in the way. “Is - is there anything else you need?”

“Not right now.”

“Okay.” He grasped his cane, taking a step back from her. “I’ll - uh - I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Will you be okay making the bed?” she asked. “The linen’s in the closet.”

“I’m sure I’ll work it out,” he said. “Just - just call if you need anything.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

“Yes.” His fingers opened and closed on the cane handle. “Uh - sleep well.”

She nodded, sending him a brief smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He realised how much she must hate having to rely on him to help her, but she was letting him do it, and even letting him touch her, which he saw as a good sign. Perhaps, given time, he could earn her trust.

* * *

Belle woke when it was still dark, feeling groggy and a little nauseous. The painkillers had worn off, and she winced as she moved, her immobilised arm getting in the way. Getting ready for bed had been a complex series of events that made her realise just how much she had relied on being able-bodied. She wondered how the hell she would cope when the baby was born, and wanted to sigh. No doubt she would learn to deal with everyday tasks, but at this early stage it all seemed overwhelming.

She needed the bathroom, so she pushed out of bed, stepping into her slippers and grabbing her robe one-handed, putting one arm into it and shrugging the other half over her shoulder to cover her cast. She fumbled the belt around herself, looping it through and tugging it closed with one end of the belt in her free hand and the other between her teeth.

Glancing at the digital clock on her nightstand, she saw that it was just before five. She had managed a few hours of sleep, but her body was aching from exhaustion even without the pain of her broken arm. Bathroom first, then painkillers. Perhaps they would ease her pain enough to let her get a little more rest.

She noticed that the lights in the kitchen were on, but she thought little of it. It was only when she had finished in the bathroom that she decided to investigate, and found Gold seated at the kitchen table, his laptop open and a cup of coffee by his side. He had changed into a loose pair of silk pants and a close-fitting T-shirt, his black silk robe over the top. The light made the robe gleam where it draped his shoulders, and a brief vision tickled at her mind, a memory of a time she had stayed at his house. She recalled the feel of the silk beneath her fingers as she stroked her hands over his chest and whispered to him to come back to bed, and he had picked her up and laid her down on the kitchen table, teasing her with his tongue until she screamed.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

His voice made her jump, an unexpected noise in the quiet before dawn, and she could feel herself flush a little as she chased away the memory of his touch, of his mouth on her. He looked tired, shadows beneath his dark eyes, his face a little drawn.

“Painkillers wore off,” she said, and he nodded, sitting back in his chair.

“Have a seat, I’ll get them for you.” He pushed to his feet. “You want some tea?”

“Please.”

She sat down while he fetched the painkillers, placing two in front of her with a glass of water. Belle took them, listening with half an ear as he made the tea. She glanced at the laptop, wondering what he had been working on, and frowned as she saw something odd sitting next to it. A toy rabbit, brown and cream fur beneath a faded blue jacket, two shining black beads for eyes. It looked old and worn, and she wondered at its presence. She vaguely remembered having seen it on the shelf in Gold’s shop, and wondered why he had brought it with him.

“Here.” Gold set down the teapot, following it with the cup and the little jug of milk. “Are you hungry? I could make some breakfast.”

“Could we leave it an hour or two?” she asked. “Five would be a little early even if I’d had a decent night’s sleep.”

“Go back to bed if you’re still tired,” he said. “I can bring you anything you need.”

“I probably will when I’ve had the tea,” she said, and put her head to the side. “What about you? Did you sleep?”

Gold pulled a face.

“Lay on my back and stared at the ceiling for an hour or so,” he said.

“Is the bed not comfortable?”

“No, it’s fine, it’s just―” He waved a hand. “Nothing. An eventful day. Took longer than I hoped to wind down.”

“Drinking coffee probably doesn’t help,” she observed, and he looked rueful.

“No, but when I get out of bed, I make coffee,” he said. “I’m a creature of habit.”

“I noticed.”

The briefest of smiles flickered across his face, his eyes crinkling a little.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Other than the broken arm, I mean.”

Belle scrunched her nose.

“Not great,” she admitted. “Everything hurts, and I’m a little queasy.”

“Is that the painkillers?” he asked, sounding anxious. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, really,” she said. “As fine as a heavily-pregnant woman with a broken arm can be, anyway. Sit down, finish your coffee.”

Gold nodded, slipping back into the seat he had vacated and running a hand through his hair, making the strands ripple like gold and silver grass.

“I’ve been looking for some things to make it easier for you,” he said, gesturing at the laptop screen. “A few aids for those with only one arm. I - I thought it might help.”

“What kind of things?” she asked, interested.

“Oh, there are all manner of tools on here,” he said. “Things that help you fasten buttons one-handed, handles to help you get in and out of the bath, even things to help wash your hair.”

“Well, I definitely need the button thing,” she said, in a wry tone.

“I’ll order one.”

“Thanks.” 

She reached out to pour herself some tea, eyeing the toy rabbit. Gold hadn’t mentioned it, and she wasn’t sure whether she ought to, but curiosity got the better of her.

“What’s this?”

He glanced up, and his mouth flattened a little, Sitting back in his chair, he closed the lid of the laptop and ran a hand through his hair again, as though he felt awkward. Belle waited, and after a moment he picked up the rabbit in gentle hands, turning it slowly over and over.

“This,” he said quietly. “Belonged to my son. It’s all I have left of him.”

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and there was something she had never seen before in his gaze. Anxiety, and the first glimpse of a deep, all-consuming pain. She licked her lips, suddenly nervous, wanting to ask questions, but unsure if she was ready for the answers.

“Your son?”

“Yes.”

The word was barely audible, and he dropped his eyes, head drooping a little.

“So,” she said softly. “You did have a child.”

“I did,” he said. “I - I _ do_. When I say this is all I have left of him, I don’t mean that he’s dead. Or - or I don’t _ believe _that, at least.”

“Will you tell me about him?” she asked gently.

There was silence for a moment, and she waited for him to speak. Gold sighed, looking at the toy rabbit in his hands, his fingers still turning it over and over as though it were a talisman. Eventually he glanced up, and took a deep breath.

“His name is Bailey,” he said. “He’ll be twenty-eight by now. And I have absolutely no bloody idea where he is.”

Belle shook her head.

“I - I don’t understand,” she said. “Did you two lose touch?”

Gold let out a short, humourless bark of a laugh.

“You could say that,” he said grimly. “His mother picked up and left one day, taking him with her, along with all their things, except for that rabbit. Haven’t seen him since.”

“How old was he?”

“Two.” 

He let his head drop again, and Belle chewed at her lip in distress.

“And you’ve no idea where she went?” she asked. “Surely there must be some way to track her down - the police, or…” She cut off as Gold started shaking his head. “They couldn’t help?”

“No,” he said shortly. “I had no rights to him.”

“Why not?”

Gold set down the rabbit and sat back in his chair, sucking in his cheeks and looking uncomfortable.

“Because I was never named as his father,” he said, his tone calm and cold. “We weren’t exactly in a serious relationship before she was pregnant. She left town one day without a word, and I thought that was that. Didn’t even know I had a son until he was eighteen months old, and she came back looking for me to take them in.”

“She - she didn’t tell you she was pregnant?” asked Belle, in a small voice. She could feel a twinge of guilt over her own delay in telling him about their baby, and Gold fixed her with a flat, dark-eyed stare. 

“No.”

“Why not?”

His mouth worked, as though he wanted to snap out a response, but he shrugged.

“I never did get a satisfactory answer to that question.”

Belle tried to picture a Gold nearly thirty years younger, but the image wouldn’t quite form in her mind. She found herself wondering whether he had always been emotionally distant and cold, or whether his past was the cause. Perhaps his son’s mother had been unsure whether returning to him would be the best course of action. Perhaps she, too, had tried to give her child the best life she could, in the circumstances. The thoughts made her feel uncomfortable, almost disloyal, and she frowned to herself. _ Don’t be an idiot! You’re not in a relationship with this man, and recognising someone’s flaws doesn’t make you a bad person! Maybe you and this woman had something in common. _

“So - so what happened to her after she took your son?” she asked.

Gold picked up his coffee, taking a sip before setting it down.

“I don’t know,” he said grimly. “I found out later that she’d left town with someone. She’d apparently been seeing him every time I worked late or went away with work. Left Bae on his own in the house more than once, or so I was told. A bloody toddler! Surprised no one called Social Services.”

_ Oh. Okay, so maybe we have nothing in common. _

“That - that must have been painful,” she said awkwardly, but he merely shrugged.

“Oh, she’d never been faithful, so that wasn’t exactly a surprise,” he said. “Milah never was one for being settled. Always on the move, always - searching - for something. I thought, given that I had a decent job and made a good wage, that she might stay. For Bae’s sake, at least. A child needs its mother.”

The obvious question in Belle’s mind was whether he was certain he was the father of this child after all, and Gold seemed to sense she was thinking it.

“You have the same look on your face my father did when I told him she was back,” he said dryly. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t take a test to prove I was the father. I had only her word for it. That and what I felt, anyway. What I _ knew_. I knew he was my son.”

It was the first time he had ever mentioned his father, and Belle felt a surge of curiosity, but she didn’t feel equipped to handle a long conversation about his family history. She filed the information away for later, when she was more rested.

“Tell me about him,” she said. “Tell me about Bailey.”

The grim expression melted away, and there was a softness around his eyes, the faintest hint of a smile.

“You know, Henry reminded me of him a little,” he said. “That same bright-eyed curiosity about everything going on around him.”

“Henry’s a great kid,” agreed Belle, and Gold’s smile grew a little.

“Bae had my eyes,” he said. “Dark hair, like his mother, but my eyes. Pretty much all he had of me, if I’m honest. He was a happy child, affectionate. He loved stories, and painting in the kitchen. Made a terrible mess, but I didn’t mind that. Curious about everything he saw, and full of joy. He was always laughing, always happy. Filled with light.”

His head dropped a little, and Belle wanted to reach for him again, to send him comfort. She tried to imagine the pain of losing a child, of not knowing their fate for decades. It was too horrible to contemplate, so she pushed the thoughts away.

“But she took him away,” she said. “Without saying a _ thing _?”

"Oh, there were hints, looking back," he said tiredly. "She kept saying she wanted to move, that she wanted some excitement in her life. I knew she was unhappy, but I thought stability was more important than chasing the horizon. I wanted Bae to have everything I never did, you see."

"I can understand that," she said, and he wrinkled his nose, reaching for his coffee.

"Yeah, well," he said quietly. "Boring, apparently. All work and no play."

He took a drink, and Belle chewed at her lip.

“And - and you never heard from her again?” she asked.

Gold shook his head.

“It’s how I ended up over here,” he said. “When the authorities wouldn’t help, I tried to find them myself. Eventually I tracked them to the US, and found out that Bae had been in the care of Social Services when he was six or seven. Since then, no trace of either of them.”

“Oh.” 

Belle buried her face in her cup. Uneasy thoughts were brewing in her mind about what could have become of his son. Perhaps he was no longer alive to be found. It was a horrible thought, and one she had no doubt had plagued him many times over the years, so she kept it to herself.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I - I had no idea.”

“Why would you?”

It was said in a dismissive tone, followed by a sip of his coffee, and she frowned. _ Why indeed? _

Gold sighed, closing his eyes, and ran a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry, that came out wrong,” he said. “I - I just meant that I never really talked about it, that’s all.”

“Why not?” she asked softly. _ Why couldn’t you talk to me? Why can’t you let me in? _

She wanted to press him on it, but something held her tongue; she sensed that he would only talk when he was ready, and that it wasn’t the time. Gold shrugged, looking awkward.

“Because it was private,” he said eventually.

It wasn’t much of an answer, but she suspected it was all she would get.

“How does it feel to talk about it now?” she asked tentatively, and he glanced across at her.

“Painful,” he admitted. “Like poking at an old wound, and realising it hasn’t really healed, just scabbed over. You still bleed.”

“You must miss him,” she said softly, and he swallowed hard.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Oh, every day.”

There was silence for a moment. Belle took a sip of her tea, wondering whether to speak first, or to leave it to him to steer the conversation. Gold was staring at a point in the distance, his mouth set in a flat line, and she could sense pain deep within him, and loss, and guilt.

“It’s the not knowing, really,” he said quietly. “Whether he grew up happy and content. Whether he’s warm, and safe. Whether he went to college or got married or had children of his own.” He grimaced, mouth twisting. “In the darkest times there’s a tiny, terrible part of myself wondering if he’s even still alive.”

“Of course he is,” she said firmly, and he glanced at her, a brief flash of something in his eyes. Gratitude for her reassurance, perhaps? She wished he was easier to read. 

“Yes,” he whispered. “He’s alive and well, and living a good life. He has to be.”

His jaw tightened, and she could sense a determination in him, a certainty. She wondered how many times he had repeated that assertion to himself over the years. How many times he had feared the worst, and tried to reassure himself.

“Do you think he’s ever looked for you?” she asked, and he sighed.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Like I said, I was never named in any records, so I suppose it depends how much his mother told him about me, if anything. I doubt he remembers the time he lived with me, after all.”

“I guess not.”

More silence. Belle felt a rush of sympathy for him, and reached out instinctively to grasp his hand. Gold looked down at where her fingers were tucked between his, as though he was surprised to feel her touch, and she squeezed gently.

“I hope you find him one day,” she said. “And - and thank you for telling me.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, and he looked across at her.

“Well, you were right,” he said. “You needed to know.”

“Yeah.”

There was silence for a moment. She pulled her hand back and picked up her cup, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be thinking hard, his fingers twitching a little on the table top, and he glanced across at her.

“I know that one of your concerns was that I would get bored of being a father, and leave,” he said. “I assure you that will never happen, Belle. Whatever may happen between us, I will always play a full part in this child’s life.”

She nodded.

“I believe you,” she said. “And I’m glad. Really.”

She drained her cup, setting it down on the table. Gold was watching her with an unreadable look in his eyes, but she sensed a slight change in the atmosphere. Tiny cracks spidering across the wall that had been built between them. The first tentative steps towards a positive relationship. Whatever form that took.

“Well, I’m gonna go back to bed,” she said. “Could you do me a favour and wake me at ten if I’m not up?”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll make breakfast. French toast?”

“Well, now you’re spoiling me.”

His eyes gleamed a little.

“Are you going to let me?”

Belle returned his tiny smile.

“If you insist.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time, Belle asked Gold to move in to help her out while she healed from a broken arm, and he opened up to her about losing Bae. Here's what happened next.
> 
> @anonymousnerdgirl prompted: 22: "Have you lost your damn mind?"

After Belle had gone to bed, Gold stayed awake, drinking coffee and scouring websites for disability aids that he thought might be helpful. Having made his purchases, he checked his emails, finding one from Ella reminding him that they were supposed to be meeting at some point to sign the remaining paperwork for the transfer of the apartment and the agreement between he and Belle. He sent off a quick reply, explaining what had happened and suggesting that the meeting be postponed for a week or so.

He was surprised to find that he felt a little better for telling Belle about Bae. It had been years since he had spoken his name aloud, since he had discussed his existence with another person, and there was a certain catharsis in telling Belle about him. It didn’t make his loss any less painful, of course, but sharing his pain reminded him that Bae was alive, and out there in the world, and that someday, against all the odds, he might just find him.

By the time he had finished with his emails, it was approaching eight. The sun was up, although hidden by iron-grey clouds, and he put on some coffee as he watched rainwater streak down the windows. His eyes were grainy with tiredness, and although he figured he could use some sleep, there was too much he wanted to do before he could rest. He decided to plan what he would cook over the next few days, and went to the fridge to go through the contents again. Belle would want something she could eat one-handed, of course, so he began flicking through his mental file of dishes to make up some meal plans. Once he was done with the fridge, he inspected the contents of the cupboards, making a list of anything further he needed to pick up. Belle would be alright for an hour or so while he went grocery shopping.

It was strange, having someone to care for, and if he thought about it too much it made him nervous. He hadn’t had to look after anyone but himself in decades, not since he had lost Bae, and he wasn’t sure how much Belle would want him to do for her. No doubt she would tell him if he overstepped, but in the meantime he would carry on with preparing food, cleaning up after himself and being as useful as possible. 

A knock at the apartment door made him glance around, and he hurried over, casting a glance towards Belle’s bedroom as he passed. There was no sound from within, and he presumed she was still sleeping. He opened the door to find Emma on the other side with her fist raised, prepared to knock again, and she rocked back on her heels, eyes widening.

“Uh - hey,” she said. 

“Good morning,” he said, and she looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m - not disturbing you guys, am I?”

“Belle’s still in bed,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the bedrooms. “I’m just thinking about making a start on breakfast. You can join us, if you like.”

“Oh, I don’t want to push in if she’s still - uh - sleeping,” she said hastily, and Gold shook his head.

“She asked me to wake her at ten if she wasn’t up,” he said. “Come on in, have some coffee. I’m making French toast.”

“Oh, well in that case…”

She winked at him, stepping through, and he shut the door behind her.

“How’s she doing?” she asked, and Gold pulled a face.

“She was up around five, but went back to bed again once I’d made her some tea,” he said. “Still in a lot of pain, obviously.”

“I bet.”

Gold gestured towards the kitchen, and Emma walked ahead of him, shrugging out of her coat. She draped it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and he poured the coffee, setting a cup down for her and receiving a nod of thanks. He took a small jug of cream from the fridge, putting it down on the table next to her cup.

“It’s good of you to come over,” he said. “I’m sure Belle will be pleased to see you.”

“I figured she could use a hand, if you’ll excuse the obvious pun,” she said, reaching for the cream. “Didn’t realise you’d be here.”

“Yes.” He poured coffee for himself, and leaned back against the counter. “She’s asked me to move in temporarily to help her out.”

“That right?” Emma took a slow sip of her coffee, eyeing him. “Well. I guess she’ll need all hands on deck when the baby gets here.”

“Precisely.”

There was silence for a moment. Gold could sense that she had something to say, and suspected that she wasn’t the sort of woman to hold onto her opinions. He was proven correct when Emma put down her coffee cup and put her fists on her hips, raising her chin. 

“You know she’s my best friend, right?” she said.

“I know,” he said dryly. “Is this where you make some subtle threat to my physical safety if I ever hurt her?”

“Pretty much,” she said. “Except for the subtle part. Break her heart and I’ll punch you so hard in the dick you’ll need scaffolding to get it up again.”

Gold’s eyebrows shot up, and he could feel amusement bubble up within him, his mouth twitching as he tried not to smile.

“That’s very - visual.”

“You think I’m kidding?”

“Oh, I believe you,” he said.

“Good.”

“Belle is fortunate to have such a good friend,” he added. “I assure you I have no intention of hurting her.”

“Intentions don’t mean shit, excuse my French.” 

She tossed back her hair, looking at him defiantly, and Gold nodded.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m aware that I’ve behaved appallingly where Belle is concerned, and you have every right not to trust me.”

“But?”

“But,” he went on. “We’re to have a child together, and I want us to have a good relationship. I promise you that I’ll do what I can to make that work.”

“Yeah, well, given that the first time I met her, she was crouched in a toilet stall crying her eyes out over you, I’m not holding my breath,” she said flatly, and Gold gave her a thin smile.

“Then I suppose we’ll have to take things one day at a time, won’t we?” he said, in the overly-pleasant tone he reserved for his most irritating tenants, and she nodded, reaching for her coffee.

“Thanks for giving me your coat yesterday, by the way,” she said. “I think I’d have frozen to death otherwise.”

Gold nodded, recognising the drop in hostilities now that she had made her stance clear.

“It was good of you to spend so long at the hospital,” he said. “I hope Henry wasn’t too put out.”

“Neal gave him dinner and put him to bed,” she said. “We kind of take it in turns, depending on how work and study evens out.”

“Sounds like you make a good team.”

“Yeah, well, we met when we were kids,” she said. “Had to look out for each other, so I guess we’re used to it.”

“Does that mean you’ll be able to keep Belle company when I’m not here?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“Depends when that’s gonna be. I thought you said you were moving in.”

“Yes, but I have business in Storybrooke, and I’ll have to go back once a week to tend to that,” he said. “Specifically Friday. I have an appointment to keep, and I may as well do some errands while I’m there.”

“So you’ll be gone the whole day, I guess.”

“I’ll leave early and return in the evening,” he agreed. “Can’t promise what time I'll be back, but it won’t run into Saturday.”

“In that case, I can look in on her at lunchtime, and spend a few hours after class in the evening,” she said, and he nodded.

“Thank you.” 

“Not a problem. We usually get together on Fridays anyhow.”

“Good.” He sipped at his coffee. “The Fridays in Maine are probably going to be a regular thing, and it would put my mind at rest if I know you’re going to be able to come over for at least part of the day.”

“What about when the baby’s born?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “We haven’t technically agreed anything yet.”

There was a thump from Belle’s bedroom, and a muffled curse, making them both look round.

“I’ll go,” said Emma, putting down her cup. “Sounds like she’s awake.”

“I’ll make a start on breakfast, in that case.”

“Okay,” she said, heading for the bedroom. “I’m holding you to that French toast suggestion, by the way.”

Belle had been awake for a little while, groggy and pain-ridden and wishing she could get more than an hour’s sleep at a time. She could hear voices in the apartment: Gold’s low murmur and a higher, female tone which she thought was Emma’s. It was probably time to get up. She struggled out of bed, scowling at her cast as it got in the way for what felt like the thousandth time. Getting dressed for bed had been tricky with only one arm, but she had managed to put on a nightdress with only a little difficulty, and she thought she could manage to get her robe on over the cast. She knocked a book onto the floor with a loud thud and swore under her breath, mouth twisting in vexation as she realised that even turning the pages was going to be difficult with only one hand.

“Hey.” Emma put her head around the door. “Can I come in?”

Belle smiled, still struggling with the robe.

“I thought I heard your voice,” she said.

“Uh-huh.” Emma was looking her over. “God, you look terrible!”

“Thanks,” said Belle, in a wry tone.

“Sorry, I just mean you’re covered in bruises.”

“Yeah, I noticed every time I tried to roll over.” She winced, arm flapping in the sleeve of the robe, and Emma started forward.

“Here, let me.”

Between them, they managed to get the robe on Belle and tied at the waist, and she flopped onto the bed with a sigh of relief. Emma sat down next to her.

“Bad night?” she asked sympathetically.

“I got a little sleep,” said Belle. “Wouldn’t say no to more, though.”

“How’s your arm?”

“Doesn’t seem to hurt as much as the bruises do, which is weird,” said Belle. “It’s more the fact that I can’t even dress myself that’s getting to me right now.”

“There’s a silver fox in silk PJs making you breakfast,” said Emma. “Could be worse.”

“Want me to tell Alex you called him a silver fox?” teased Belle, and Emma winced.

“If you do, it’ll really take the sting out of my threat to punch him in the dick,” she said. “So no.”

Belle giggled.

“Please don’t punch him in the dick."

“What’s the matter, did you call dibs on it or something?”

“No no,” said Belle hastily. “I just meant that if he’s going to help me out around here, it would probably help if he could walk.”

“Uh-huh.” Emma tilted her head, looking curious. “So. You asked him to move in.”

“Yeah.” Belle fidgeted a little. “Well, it seemed to make sense. I can’t expect to rely on you and Neal to be around to help out twenty-four-seven. Especially when the baby gets here.”

“I guess,” said Emma. “He’s asked me if I can come over Friday, though. I said no problem, so it looks as though we’re on for girls’ night. Or at least girls’ after-class hangout.”

“He can’t do Friday?” said Belle. “How come?”

“Said he had to go back to Maine,” said Emma. “Oh, but he’ll be back in the evening,”

“I suppose he has business stuff to attend to,” said Belle absently. “Friday afternoon girly hangout sounds good.”

“Play your cards right and there’ll be brownies,” said Emma, and Belle smiled.

“Sounds _ great_.”

There was a moment of silence, and Emma nudged her gently. 

“How are things going between you two?”

Belle hesitated. She badly wanted to tell Emma how Gold had started to open up a little, but she wasn’t sure she was comfortable revealing the secret pain he had carried with him for decades, and certainly didn’t think she had the right to share the details of that pain with Emma. His confession had left her with a myriad of conflicting thoughts and emotions that she wasn’t ready to process on so little sleep and whilst doped up on painkillers.

“Fine,” she said, instead. “He’s been very - attentive.”

“That a euphemism?”

Emma was grinning, and Belle sent her a flat look.

“I did not have sex with him.”

“Never said you did.”

“You thought it.”

“Oh, like you didn’t?”

“No!” insisted Belle. “Have you lost your damn mind? We’re still only _ barely _ on speaking terms!”

“You don’t need to talk to have sex.”

“I did _not_ have sex with him!”

“I know that,” Emma assured her.

“Good.”

“Although it’s pretty obvious you want to.”

“I do _ not_!” Belle objected.

“Lies.”

_ “Emma!” _

“Fine, but five bucks says he goes down on you for some apology oral at least once in the next fortnight.”

“Oh my God…”

Belle pushed to her feet with a huff and stomped off towards the kitchen, leaving Emma chuckling behind her.

* * *

Emma stayed long enough to eat breakfast and help Belle change into something other than a nightdress and bathrobe, then left for college with a cheerful goodbye and a promise to return the next day. Belle spent the rest of the morning alternating between calls to the university to explain her situation, arranging an extension on a piece of work that was almost due, and muttering under her breath about the whole thing. Gold had been cleaning up, and came through to the lounge drying his hands on a towel as she was whispering curse words and trying to type one-handed.

“If you wanted to dictate the paper to me, I don’t mind typing it for you,” he said, and Belle sat back with a sigh.

“I’m not sure my brain works that way,” she said. “Typing helps me think. Writing even more so, but that’s definitely out.”

“The offer’s there, nonetheless.”

“Thank you.” She smiled to show him that she meant it. “What are you planning on doing for the rest of the day?”

“Is there anything you need?”

“Not right now,” she said. “And you don’t have to spend all your time looking after me, you know. You have your own life to lead.”

“And right now I choose to spend it looking after you,” he said. “Although I might go and do some grocery shopping. There are some ingredients I need to get if I’m to make the dishes I want.”

“I’m not expecting gourmet meals every night,” she warned, and he showed his teeth.

“Well, that’s unfortunate.”

Belle tapped the fingers of her good hand on the keyboard, secretly amused.

“I think you and Dr Jekyll arranged all this so you could feed me up,” she said, and Gold sucked his breath in over his teeth.

“You caught me.”

“In that case, you’d better go out and get your ingredients, hadn’t you?” she said, and his grin widened.

“I’ll be back in an hour.”

* * *

While he was out, Belle shuffled to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, still swearing under her breath about the difficulties having only one arm was causing. It seemed to take her at least twice as long to do things, if she could do them at all. The university had been understanding and an extension agreed for her paper, but she could still foresee difficulties in getting it completed to a standard she would be happy with. She was debating whether to put everything on hold until after the baby was born and her arm was healed, and decided to delay making a decision on that front for a day or two. Perhaps she’d get used to typing with one hand.

Looking in the mirror made her wince. Her bruises had turned a deep shade of purple, and there was swelling on her cheek where it had hit the corner of a step. She supposed she was lucky not to have knocked a tooth out. At least the baby was fine; fear over hurting it had consumed her thoughts until she had been given the all-clear. But she had seen it on the scan, safe inside, tiny fingers twitching. Gold’s reaction to feeling it kick had perhaps been the most emotion she had seen from him since their break-up. It made her more certain that he would love their child, however differently he might choose to show it. However he might feel about her.

Once Gold returned, he made her another cup of tea, served up with a crisp, buttery cinnamon pastry which made her mouth water. She nibbled at it, curled in her chair and licking crumbs from her fingers as she listened to him clattering about in the kitchen. Soon the air was filled with delicious scents, and she tried to guess what he was making. Something with garlic, she knew that.

Having finished her pastry, she got up to take her plate back to the kitchen. Gold had rolled up his shirtsleeves and put on one of her aprons, and was stirring a thick, glossy white sauce. Another pan held a rich, dark stew that bubbled gently, and Belle felt her stomach growl in anticipation.

“Smells good,” she said. “What are you making?”

Gold looked around, smiling a little.

“Beef in red wine there,” he said, gesturing at the pan. “And this is a cheese sauce for a pasta dish I’m planning. I thought if I portioned up things you can eat with one hand, it would be easier for you to heat them through and feed yourself when I’m not around.”

“Are you going away?” she asked, Emma’s casual mention of his going to Storybrooke coming back to her.

“I’m spending Friday in Storybrooke,” he said, looking back at the sauce he was stirring. “I’ll be back in the evening, but I can’t say what time, which is why I thought I’d make something for you to heat through.”

“Well, Emma’s gonna come over,” she said. “I guess I’ll have something to feed her.”

“Is there anything else you want me to make?” he asked. “I could bake some cookies or something?”

“You don’t have to spend all your time in the kitchen,” she said, and he shrugged.

“I like cooking,” he said. “It’s actually nice to have someone to cook for.”

“That’s great, but - but don’t feel that you can’t do your own thing,” she said, feeling awkward. “I know I asked you to move in to help me out, but I’m not expecting you to be there around the clock.”

Gold gave the sauce a final stir, and turned off the heat beneath it, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and turning to face her.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” he asked quietly. “Is this - too much?”

Belle hesitated.

“No,” she said. “No, it’s not that.”

“It’s just that you said it was hard,” he reminded her. “Having me around.”

“I know.” She shifted a little. “I know what I said.”

“So - so if you need me to leave you alone,” he added. “I can do that.” 

“No,” she said. “No, I don’t need you to leave me alone. I’ll get used to it.”

“Oh,” he said. “Right.” 

“It’s getting easier,” she added. “Having you around.”

He smiled slightly.

“Good.”

“In fact,” she said. “It would be great if you could help me out with something.”

“Name it.”

“I really want to take a bath,” she said. “I feel all icky after lying around in hospital, and I can’t really wash my hair one-handed.”

“I can wash your hair, no problem.”

“Good,” she said. “Are you free now?”

“Let me just clean up in here a little.”

“Okay, I’ll go and turn on the water,” she said. “Is there something we can wrap around my cast? I’m not supposed to get it wet.”

“I’m sure we can work something out,” he said. “Do you want me to wash your hair before or after the bath?”

“I was thinking during would be the obvious choice,” she said, and he blinked at her.

“You want me to wash your hair while you’re _ in _the bath?”

“Yes…” she said slowly. “The place where we have easy access to hot water and shampoo does seem logical.”

“But you’ll be in the bath,” he said, as though the reason for his objection was obvious. Belle raised an eyebrow.

“Would that make you uncomfortable?”

“I thought it would make _ you _uncomfortable.”

Belle sighed.

“I asked you to take off my bra last night.”

“Yes, well, that was just undoing the clasp, that wasn’t me seeing you completely naked.”

“Alex,” she said patiently. “You must have seen me naked a hundred times, why would I care?”

“Yes, but we weren’t - like _ this _ \- then,” he said, gesturing between them.

“So it _ would _make you uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You do realise you’re gonna see a lot more than my boobs when we’re in the delivery room, right?” she said flatly. “I’m reconciled to the fact that I’m gonna be lying with my legs spread probably for hours in front of you and a bunch of strangers while I push out a new human.”

His mouth opened and closed, as though he was trying to think of a response, and Belle sighed again.

“Okay,” she said. “Just - just close your eyes until I get in, in that case. The bubbles should cover everything, right?”

His eyes flicked from left to right, as though he was trying to see a handy escape chute out of the apartment, but he nodded.

“Alright.”

“I’ll go change into my robe,” she said. “Can you find something to cover my cast?”

Gold swallowed.

“Alright.”

“Five minutes, then.”

Gold watched her wander off towards the bathroom, and stood for a moment, thinking. Belle didn’t seem to care that she was about to be naked in front of him, and he couldn’t tell if he was relieved or not. She was right about one thing; if he was to be with her in the delivery room, there was no need to be weird over helping her bathe. He told himself to get a bloody grip. Admittedly it would be the first time seeing her naked since their break-up, but there was no reason that should bother him if it didn’t bother her. Besides, she needed his help, so his own discomfort would have to wait.

Hunting around in the kitchen drawers, he found a plastic bag which he thought would keep her cast dry. He took off the apron he had been wearing, tossing it onto the table, and removed his tie. The waistcoat went next; he figured that the less he was wearing, the less that would get wet. He could the bath water running, and headed for the bathroom, heart thumping behind his ribs.

Belle wasn’t there when he opened the door, but he could hear her moving around in her bedroom. Hot water was running, sending up the scent of rose and geranium from the bath foam she had added. He looked around for a moment, trying to work out the best and most comfortable way to undertake hair-washing. If he brought in a chair and sat at the head of the bath, he should be able to get it done without too much difficulty.

By the time Belle entered, snug in her bathrobe, he thought he was ready. The water was steaming gently, a froth of fragrant bubbles lying thick on its surface, and he had brought a chair from the kitchen and set out bottles of shampoo and conditioner alongside a wide-toothed comb, each equidistant from the other. Belle stuck a hand into the bathwater, and nodded.

“Feels great,” she said. “Did you find anything to cover my cast?”

“Oh, right.”

Getting the plastic bag over the cast meant that she had to shrug out of one sleeve of her robe, and he caught glimpses of her body, full breasts and rounded belly. It was impossible to get the bloody thing on without seeing her, but he tried to work as quickly as possible, tucking the plastic around the cast and tying it loosely to stop it falling off.

“Should be okay as long as we don’t go crazy with the shower head,” he said, and Belle nodded.

“Well, you’re in charge of that,” she said. “I’m getting in.”

He closed his eyes, holding out a hand for her to take, and listened to the sound of her taking off her robe, the soft rustle of clothing and the tiny sigh of frustration she let out as she struggled with it. Eventually there was a low thump of cloth hitting the floor, and he flinched a little as Belle grasped his hand. There was a light splashing noise, the sound of water rippling, and the gentle squeak of skin against porcelain. She let go of his hand.

“Okay, I’m in,” she said.

Gold opened his eyes, feeling them dart around rather than fix on Belle. She was sitting up, propped against the back of the bath with the bubbles just below her breasts, watching him curiously, and he moved out of her line of sight, hearing the splash of water as she settled down with a sigh.

“Feels like ages since I took a bath,” she said. “This is nice. Relaxing.”

_ Speak for yourself_.

“Can you wash my back after you’ve done my hair?”

“Alright.” He ran a hand through his hair, feeling awkward, eyes flicking from the shampoo bottles to the shower head on its woven chrome cord and back again.

“This could get messy,” he said. “Do you mind if I take my shirt off?”

“I’m naked.”

“I know, but - oh, never mind.”

Gold plucked at the buttons of his shirt with hands that shook a little. It was strange; being unclothed never usually fazed him, and being half-naked certainly shouldn’t, but it was somehow different now, with Belle. He had turned his back, but he was facing the mirror, steam starting to condense on it and blur their reflections. He watched her free hand scoop up water and let it run over pale, bare shoulders. Her eyes were closed, her lips a little parted, and he swallowed hard as the water washed away the bubbles that coated her left breast, exposing the deep pink nipple. He had tried not to notice the way her body had changed with pregnancy, her breasts larger, her belly full and heavy with his child. She had always been beautiful, but now she was breathtaking. He realised he was staring, and hastily looked down at his shirt buttons, getting the last of them open and shrugging out of his shirt.

“You don’t need too much shampoo,” she said, making him jump.

“Right.”

Calling himself the biggest of morons, he took a seat on the chair behind her and snatched up the shower head. Getting her hair wet was the first step, and he concentrated on separating the dark curls with his fingers, saturating every strand. Copper tints showed through as it wrapped around his fingers, and he turned off the water. 

“Shampoo,” he said thickly.

He began working the shampoo into a lather, and Belle let out a sigh, letting her head roll back as his fingers kneaded her curls, thick white foam running over his fingers.

“That feels good,” she whispered. “God, I needed this.”

Gold stayed silent, concentrating on the push and pull of his hands in her hair, trying to ignore the way she moved, wet thighs rubbing together, bubbles coursing over hot skin. His mind scurried away to a time when they had shared a bath at his house, Belle lying back against his chest in the hot water. He had kissed her bare shoulders, one hand sliding down beneath the water to reach between her legs. Belle let out a tiny moan, bringing him back to the present, and he swallowed hard, feeling his cock begin to swell in his pants.

“Shower head,” he said, his voice sounding a little hoarse, and Belle passed it back to him, sitting forward so that he could rinse the shampoo from her hair.

Working in the conditioner did nothing to quell his rising lust, the liquid slippery on his fingers, Belle making low, contented sounds as he massaged her scalp. He had worried about hurting her, his fingers finding a bruise he couldn’t see, and so he had felt his way gradually, fingertips sliding over her skin, listening carefully for any indication that he should stop. Belle moaned, rolling her shoulders and relaxing into his touch. His heart was thumping hard, the heat and dampness of the room sinking into him, and he pulled back and snatched up the comb, fumbling and almost dropping it. Belle sat forward again, and he carefully combed the hair, working out tiny knots and tangles until it spread down her back in wet, glossy tendrils.

“Uh - how long do you leave this in?” he asked, wishing he didn’t feel as though his tongue was too big for his mouth.

“Couple of minutes,” she said. “Can you wash my back and my arm?”

He swept the hair over her shoulder, reaching silently for the sponge she gave him and dipping it in the bathwater. He gave her back a gentle scrub, rose-scented bubbles slipping slowly down to mingle with those in the water. Belle held up her free arm, and he stood, working the sponge down her arm to the ends of her fingers. The bubbles were disappearing rapidly, and the curve of her belly was visible. God, she was incredible! Lush and beautiful as a goddess, and just as indifferent to his presence.

“I can do the rest.”

Gold almost dropped the sponge, pulling back a little. Belle was looking at him with a steady gaze, and he licked his lips nervously. She had turned her hand, palm upward, and he pressed the sponge into it, water running over their fingers.

“Right,” he said. “Uh - I’ll rinse your hair.”

He returned to his chair, his breathing unsteady, and sat down with a thump, reaching for the shower head again. Rinsing out the conditioner gave him something to concentrate on other than how good she looked and his now painfully insistent erection, and he took deep, even breaths as he raked the water through her hair. Belle was using the sponge on her breasts and belly, and he kept his eyes fixed on what he was doing. It was important to do the job properly, after all.

“I - uh - I think I’m done,” he said, and Belle glanced over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said. “That felt amazing. Could you wrap it in a towel?”

He moved wordlessly, snatching a towel from the heated rail and wrapping it around her head, tucking the ends in before standing back with his eyes averted. The bubbles were almost completely gone, a thin layer of foam on top of the water, and Belle was using the sponge to wet her shoulders again. He moved around to the side, where he could see less of her, and she glanced at him, eyes wide and a warm smile curving her mouth.

“You want to get out?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“Could you give me five minutes? I just want to soak for a little while.”

“Of course,” he said. “Um - call when you need me. I’ll make some tea.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Gold nodded, and Belle’s smile widened.

“Thank you,” she added. “I could never have managed that myself.”

“My pleasure.” He wanted to bite his tongue. _ Pleasure? That was fucking excruciating, you moron! _

“Excuse me,” he muttered, and snatched up his shirt, striding from the room as quickly as his ruined leg and his straining cock would allow. Five minutes? Five minutes would be enough.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ashmarie220 prompted: "6: I'm sorry for all that pain I caused"

_ One year and nine months earlier _

The June sun was pleasantly warm, and Gold was glad of the sunglasses shielding his eyes from the glare. At ten-thirty, the heat of the day had not yet developed, and there was still a freshness to the light breeze that caught at his hair and kissed along his jaw. It was rent day, and he was on his rounds, trying to catch as many of his business tenants as he could before lunch. Those that weren’t avoiding him, of course.

He crossed the street, looking both ways as he did so, and headed for _ Game of Thorns _. The usual bright displays of flowers were outside, along with a selection of garden ornaments and several hanging baskets dripping with colourful blooms. Gold had a bet with himself as to whether Moe French had the rent. He suspected not, but he would be delighted to be proven wrong. 

The bell above the shop door tinkled as he stepped inside, and Gold glanced towards the counter. His eyes narrowed behind the glasses, and for a moment he thought he was seeing things when a young woman turned to face him. Sunlight shining through the window made a halo around her, making her hair gleam with reddish tones, and as he stepped closer he could see her smile, eyes shining in a beautiful face. It felt as though a soft wave of light was washing over him, bathing him in warmth, blinding him. He squeezed his eyes shut behind the dark glasses, blinking rapidly before opening them up and trying to focus on the woman in front of him.

She was small and slight, in a tight white blouse with cap sleeves above a coral-pink skirt. Her skin was pale, her lips painted a luscious red, slender fingers holding a red rose, and he felt his breath catch in his throat, his heart thumping. She was perfect. She was also a complete stranger, and he wondered when she had come to Storybrooke. He moved closer to the counter, settling the cane between his legs and looking her over properly.

“I wasn’t aware that Mr French had hired an assistant,” he said, surprised at how calm his voice sounded.

“He didn’t,” she said. “Well, not exactly, anyway. I’m his daughter.”

_ His daughter? She must take after her mother, then, _ he thought_. _ She had the same accent as Moe French, an accent he had always found irritating when speaking to the man. Strange that it sounded so pleasant, so sweet, coming from her mouth. _ For fuck’s sake, man, get a bloody grip! Anyone would think you’d never seen a pretty woman before. _

“Of course,” he said, allowing his voice to become the lazy drawl that he knew made people bristle. “The family resemblance is - well, it’s non-existent, but no matter.”

Miss French frowned, brows drawing down a little, and he felt something like relief at having annoyed her. She put down the rose, leaning on the counter, and raised her chin.

“It appears you have me at a disadvantage,” she said coolly, and he smiled.

“That’s usually my intent,” he said. “But you’re right, I should introduce myself. I’m Mr Gold. The landlord.”

He didn’t miss the way she took a step back, looking suddenly nervous.

“What—” She swallowed hard. “What can I do for you, Mr Gold?”

He took off his glasses, folding the arms down carefully and slipping them into his pocket.

“I’m here for the rent,” he said quietly. “Both the shop, and the house. Perhaps you can satisfy me?”

She shook her head, the tip of her tongue slipping out to wet her lips. His eyes followed its path, and he wondered how it would feel to press his mouth to hers. Whether she would taste as sweet as she looked.

“Where’s your father, Miss French?” he asked softly.

“Out making deliveries,” she said. “Shall I tell him you stopped by?”

“If you would,” he said. “You may also tell him that the rent is due by six o’clock this evening, and I expect it to be paid in full, Good day, Miss French.”

He pressed a hand to his chest, bowing his head a little, and turned to head for the door, taking his glasses back out and slipping them on before he went out into the sunshine. His heart was pounding, his blood singing in his veins, and he stood for a moment, breathing in the warm summer air and wondering at the force of his reaction to her. He almost turned around and went back into the shop, ready to tell her he would wait for Moe French’s return. It was with some effort that he took a step forward, and then another, heading back down the street to the pawn shop. 

Once he was inside, the cool darkness a relief after the heat and brightness of the sun, he walked to the counter, leaning on it and taking several deep breaths as he let himself calm. The heavy tick of antique clocks helped to soothe him, and he felt his breathing slow, allowing himself a tiny, satisfied smile. Rent was due, after all. He glanced up at the nearest clock, its minute hand just past the hour. He had a feeling he would be seeing Miss French again before the day was out.

* * *

Gold watched the clock on the wall of Dr Hopper’s office, its minute hand just past the hour, a low ticking coming from it and sounding unnaturally loud in the silence that had fallen as soon as he had taken off his coat. He was sitting on the edge of the couch, hands folded loosely together, with Dr Hopper in the chair opposite. It was Friday, he had driven up from Boston that morning, and he had a session of therapy, numerous matters of business and a four-hour drive back ahead of him. He suspected that the therapy would be the most exhausting.

“So,” said Dr Hopper kindly. “How have you been?”

“Fine.”

“Can you expand on that?”

“Belle had an accident,” said Gold. “Broke her arm.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Dr Hopper. “How is she doing?”

He pulled a face.

“Well, it’s her dominant arm, so she’s pretty helpless and getting more frustrated by the day, I think,” he said. “I - I moved in. Temporarily, of course. Just to help out.”

“How is that going?”

“It’s - a work in progress,” he admitted. “She doesn’t like relying on other people. Especially me, I think.”

“Was it her idea, or yours?”

“Oh, hers,” he said immediately. “I wasn’t going to suggest it. If I had she would probably have said no.”

“It must take some getting used to,” said Dr Hopper carefully. “Living together in such close quarters. How is it going?”

“It’s - okay,” said Gold. “It’s a little awkward, but we’re trying. She seems to be handling it better than I am, to be honest.”

“What is it that you find difficult?”

Gold hesitated.

“I’m - I’m never sure if I’m overstepping,” he said. “I’m trying to be useful, cooking and cleaning, but I try to keep out of her way as much as I can. And - and she doesn’t seem to mind me helping her dress and bathe, but it feels awkward. Like I shouldn’t be there.”

“But she doesn’t seem to feel that way?”

“No.” He pulled a face. “Maybe she just doesn’t care what I think about anything. I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.”

“Have you talked to her about it?”

“No. Why would I? It’s my problem, not hers.”

There was silence for a moment. Gold turned his attention to the rug at his feet. There was a loose thread coiling out of it, and he nudged it with the shining toe of his shoe, pushing it down into the pile and watching it spring up again.

“And what we spoke about last time,” said Dr Hopper, making him look up. “About being open with her. Is there any progress on that front?”

Gold pursed his lips, his natural instinct to bottle everything up warring with his promise to himself to put his all into the therapy sessions.

“I told Belle about my son,” he said hesitantly, and Dr Hopper smiled.

“That’s an excellent start,” he said. “How did you find that?”

“She was - a little surprised, I suppose, but she was supportive,” he said. “Sympathetic.”

“That’s great,” said Dr Hopper. “But what I wanted to know was how you found being open with her. Letting her know a little more about your life.”

Gold thought for a moment.

“It was better than I expected,” he admitted. “It was - sort of a relief, I suppose.”

“Do you think you might tell her something else about your past?”

“Like what?” asked Gold cautiously, and Dr Hopper spread his hands.

“Whatever you feel comfortable divulging.”

Gold shifted a little in his seat.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I know I needed to tell her about Bae. I’m not sure anything else is relevant.”

Dr Hopper eyed him for a moment, and nodded.

“Alright, we can come back to that,” he said. “Besides the awkwardness you’re feeling, how are things between you otherwise?”

Gold’s mouth flattened, and he sat back with a low grumble.

“Either a little better or a little worse,” he said. “Depending on your point of view.”

“I’m sorry?”

He sighed, running a hand over the back of his neck awkwardly and not looking up.

“She told me she still loves me,” he said heavily. “But that she doesn’t trust me, so we can’t - can’t _ build _ anything.”

“And how did you feel about that?” asked Dr Hopper. Gold shrugged.

“At first I was a little - surprised,” he admitted. “I never expected her to still have any positive feelings towards me, certainly not love. And - and then I was - hurt, I suppose.”

“Because she doesn’t trust you?”

“Yes. Is that unreasonable of me?”

“What do you think?”

Gold hesitated.

“I suppose I can’t blame her,” he said. “Just because I’m trying to do the right thing _ now_, it doesn’t undo what I did _ then_. The fact that I’m sorry for all that pain I caused can’t - can’t turn back time.”

“It can’t,” agreed Dr Hopper. “And it may take some time for her to trust you in the future.”

“If she ever does,” said Gold quietly.

“It’s certainly not something you can force,” said Dr Hopper. “Do you want her to trust you?”

“Of course,” he said dismissively. “What kind of question is that?”

“Alright,” said Dr Hopper. “Let me ask you another. Do you trust Belle?”

Gold looked up, eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

“I’m supposed to say yes, aren’t I?”

“Telling me what you think you’re supposed to say isn’t going to move us forward.”

Gold sighed, sitting back a little. He was silent for a moment, thinking, and gave the tiniest shrug, the barest denial.

“I don’t think I trust anyone,” he said quietly, and Dr Hopper nodded slowly.

“Well, trusting someone means making yourself vulnerable,” he said. “That can be a difficult thing to do. You need to feel safe with that person.”

He shifted uncomfortably, frowning.

“That sounds as though it’s Belle’s fault I keep her at arm’s length, and that’s not true,” he said. “She’s given me no reason not to feel safe with her, and for me to suggest otherwise would be a lie.”

“I’m not saying that,” said Dr Hopper. “Insecurity in a relationship, any relationship, _ can _ be caused by one person doing something to cause the other to lose trust—infidelity is a common example—but it can also be that there are things in a person’s past that have shaped their view of the present. That’s not anyone’s fault, least of all the person they’re with. The important thing is to recognise and deal with it.”

Gold was silent, fingers sliding together rhythmically.

“What do you think of that?” asked Dr Hopper, and Gold gave a noncommittal shrug. Dr Hopper looked thoughtful.

“Have you had other relationships?” he asked. “Before you met Belle, I mean?”

“Well, there was Milah,” said Gold. “Bae’s mother. We were together for a little while, although perhaps her ideas of what a commitment entailed were different to mine.”

“She was unfaithful?”

Gold let out a hollow laugh.

“I’m not sure she knew what the word faithful meant,” he said dryly. “I suppose I can’t blame her, really. Not for that. We weren’t remotely suited, and I could never have made her happy. She only came back because of Bae. My father said—”

He clamped his mouth shut, and Dr Hopper tilted his head a little.

“Go on,” he prompted, but Gold shook his head.

“Can we move on?” he said irritably.

“Okay, we can maybe cover that in another session,” said Dr Hopper gently. “What about after she left? Let’s say in the past ten to fifteen years. What form did your relationships take in that period?”

Gold wrinkled his nose.

“‘Relationships’ might be a strong word.”

“What would you call them?”

“Interactions, maybe? Dalliances? I don’t know,” Gold sat back, feeling uncomfortable. “Meaningless - frivolities.”

“Alright. In that case, how would you characterise these interactions?”

“Brief and transactional.”

“Can you expand on that?”

Gold sighed, running a hand through his hair awkwardly.

“Expensive dinners and lengthy, mutually-pleasurable sex sessions.”

To his credit, Dr Hopper didn’t even blink.

“How long did each interaction last?”

Gold pulled a face, thinking.

“Mostly one night. Occasionally spanning a week or two.”

“Intentionally so?”

“You mean did I go into each one thinking it wouldn’t turn into anything more?” asked Gold. “Oh yes, I was under no illusions about that. It was entirely intentional.”

“And where did these interactions take place?”

“Boston,” he said. “New York, if I was there on business.”

“Not Storybrooke.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Gold shrugged.

“Keeping things - separate - I suppose,” he said. “I don’t like people knowing my business, and the gossip at Granny’s makes keeping private affairs private next to impossible in this town.”

“I see.” Dr Hopper tapped his pencil against his pad. “So what was it that made Belle different?”

Gold blinked.

“What?”

“You said that the two of you were dating for a year,” said Dr Hopper. “She lived in Storybrooke. By your own admission that doesn’t fit your usual pattern, so what made it different?”

Gold looked down at his fingers, the knuckles white where he was squeezing them together. _ I loved her. I loved her, that’s what made it different. God, I’m such an idiot! Why didn’t I realise? Why didn’t I tell her? _

“_She _ was different,” he said quietly. “She was - when I saw her it was like - like light. Like the breaking of dawn. Chasing away the shadows. I don’t know how to explain it, but I knew I had to - have her.” He winced, running a hand over his face. “That sounds wrong. I don’t mean I felt - lustful. She’s beautiful, of course, but - but it wasn’t lust I felt that day. I’m not explaining it well...”

“Can you describe the feeling?” prompted Dr Hopper.

Gold sucked his teeth, remembering the first time he saw her, the intensity of the feeling that had burst through him when she had spoken to him, when he had seen her bathed in sunlight.

“Something like - awe,” he said eventually.

“Had you ever felt that way before?”

“No.” 

“When you say you had to have her, but that it wasn’t lustful,” said Dr Hopper carefully. “What did you mean by that?”

He heaved a sigh, shifting uncomfortably.

“I don’t mean that I didn’t _ want _her, because I absolutely did,” he said quietly. “I wanted to take her in my arms, and kiss her, and find out how she tasted. I wanted to take her to bed and give her all the pleasure I could. But - but I wanted to know more about her. To find out what books she liked, to know what food she liked and how she took her tea. What made her laugh. What her dreams were.”

“You wanted to _ know _ her.”

“Yes.” 

“How long was it before your relationship became physical?”

“I think about eight weeks.”

“How did the two of you make that transition?” asked Dr Hopper, and Gold gave a wry smile.

“I had arranged for her to deliver flowers to me once a week,” he said. “During that time I talked with her. Made her tea, discussed some of the books in my library. When I said I wanted to be - intimate - with her, she agreed without hesitation.”

“And after your first night together,” said Dr Hopper. “Did you consider ending it?”

“No,” he said immediately. “No, I knew I needed more. I had to see her again. And again. But - but I also knew it couldn’t last, because she was going away. She was only in Storybrooke temporarily, and she didn’t want any of her friends to know, so - so it was _ safe_. Safe to be with her, because eventually she would leave, and I knew that.”

“You were prepared for her to leave.”

“Yes.”

“Did you want her to leave?”

“Yes.”

Dr Hopper scribbled something, and looked up again.

“Last time, you told me that you loved her then, and you love her now,” he said.

“Yes.” A tiny word, breathed into the air.

“Have you told her that?”

Gold shook his head.

“Why not?”

A shrug. Dr Hopper looked thoughtful.

“You said earlier that she told you that she still loves you,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Why do you think she told you?”

Gold scratched at the back of his neck, feeling uncomfortable.

“I don’t know,” he said. “She wanted to be honest with me, I suppose. She wanted me to hear the truth.”

“Don’t you think she wants to hear the truth from you?”

He sighed again, sitting back a little, hands on his knees.

“She doesn’t trust me,” he said. “So why would she trust that?”

“Have you lied to her before?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“When I broke up with her.” Gold shifted in his seat, shaking his head. “I said such - such terrible things to her. I didn’t mean them - at least - at least I meant to _ say _them, but they weren’t true. Nothing I told her was true.”

“Then why did you say them?”

“Because I wanted her to leave,” he said simply. “I wanted her to move on, to leave Storybrooke, to go on with her life, not be trapped here.”

“Last time we met, you said you broke up with her because you had nothing to give her,” said Dr Hopper. “Do you still feel that way?”

“Yes.”

“But since then, you’ve been helping her,” he said. “Taking care of her, providing for her.”

“I suppose.”

“Alright.” Dr Hopper scribbled something briefly, and put down his pencil. “Do you think Belle knows that you didn’t mean the things you said?”

Gold shrugged, and Dr Hopper nodded.

“I want you to do something,” he said. “I want you to talk to her about that night, and tell her what you told me.”

Gold’s mouth twisted.

“What if she won’t talk about it?”

“She may not want to right away,” agreed Dr Hopper. “But as I said, being open with one another is going to take some work on both sides.”

Gold shook his head, looking at his interlaced fingers.

“I don’t know if she can forgive me,” he said quietly. “I don’t forgive myself.”

“It can often be easier to forgive those we love than forgive ourselves,” said Dr Hopper. “Especially when there’s genuine remorse, and a desire to do better in future. You’ll only know if you talk to her. Can you do that?”

Silence. The clock ticked, and Gold remembered the stricken look on Belle’s face the night their relationship ended, the raw grief and devastation as he broke her heart with deliberate cruelty. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness, but she needed his apology. She needed the truth from him.

“I’ll tell her,” he said. “If she’ll let me.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @thespinningmeanie prompted: 78: "I love you" "You shouldn't"
> 
> @mrs-stiltskin prompted: 48: "I wish I could hurt you like you hurt me, but I know that if I had the chance, I wouldn't do it"
> 
> These prompts have been in my inbox since this fic started XD

Belle had known that a broken arm would be tricky to manage, but she hadn’t realised how helpless she was without Gold around to assist her. Getting dressed was the first obstacle, and she struggled to get out of her nightdress and into her underwear. She discarded any thought of attempting to put on a bra, and after weighing her options, decided on simple sweatpants, a camisole and cardigan. Even brushing her hair with her left hand took some getting used to.

He had left early, so quietly that she hadn’t heard him go, but when she entered the kitchen she found the coffee maker ready to go with decaf, the lid off the tea canister and cooked sliced mushrooms and onions alongside a plate of grated cheese and a bowl containing beaten eggs. The makings of an omelette. It made her smile.

She managed to make the omelette, although it wasn’t about to win any prizes for looks by the time it was on her plate, and ate it at the table with some tea, following it up with decaf coffee and one of the oat and raisin cookies he had made the previous day. Checking the fridge made her smile again; he had portioned up the food he had cooked, glass dishes containing macaroni cheese all ready to go in the oven and beef in red wine in plastic tubs ready for the microwave or to be tipped into a pan.

She spent her day reading and relaxing, rubbing her belly whenever the baby kicked. It was starting to get more uncomfortable the closer she got to her due date. She tried to look ahead six months, when the baby was on the outside, crawling around the apartment. Would Gold still be there? Probably not; she imagined he would move into his own place as soon as her arm was healed, seeing the baby according to the terms in the thick sheaf of documents that she had still not signed. The thought made her feel incredibly lonely.

Emma popped in to see her at lunchtime only briefly, staying for a cup of cocoa and helping her to tie up her hair. She promised to return after class with Neal and Henry, and so by six-thirty they were all seated around the kitchen table, eating their way through Gold’s macaroni cheese.

“This is so good,” said Henry, scraping his plate. “It’s got about a ton of cheese in it. Mom, you should make it like this next time.”

“Thanks,” said Emma dryly. “I thought you liked my mac and cheese.”

“I do, but you always say ‘is that enough cheese’ and I feel like I have to say yes, and it never is.”

“Wow - thanks for the honesty, I guess,” remarked Emma, taking a drink of her wine. Belle and Neal chuckled.

“You can tell Gold it was a hit,” added Neal, digging a fork into his own food. “It’s comforting. Kinda tastes like home, you know?”

“He’s an annoyingly good cook,” said Belle, in a flat tone.

“Why, that sneaky son of a—” Neal glanced at Henry. “Uh - well, you know what I mean. Belle, somehow I doubt it’s all part of an evil scheme. Maybe he just thinks you need to eat some good food.”

“Yeah, I know I sound unreasonable,” she sighed. “I don’t know where my brain’s at right now. This morning I was wondering how the hell I’d cope on my own, and - and that maybe I’ll miss him when he’s not here and it’s just me and the baby. It’s - it’s like I _ resent _ the fact that he’s stepping up, and I don’t really understand it. I don’t know, maybe I’m just being emotional.”

She poked at her food, feeling despondent.

“You resent that he’s making you feel things?” said Emma, with a knowing look in her eyes, and Belle pulled a face.

“Maybe.”

“Can’t be angry with him anymore, and you still feel like you should be?”

Belle put down her fork.

“Okay, did you take psych class today or something?”

Emma put a hand over hers, grinning.

“I get it, that’s all,” she said. “Don’t get too hung up on what you think you should be feeling. Do whatever’s best for making you happy.”

Belle thought about that for a moment.

“I’m not sure what that is,” she said eventually, and Emma shrugged.

“Give it time.”

There was silence except for the scraping of plates while they finished up, and Neal offered to wash up. Dessert was ice cream, brought by Emma, and Henry went to eat his in front of the TV while Neal dried the dishes and Emma finished her wine.

“Do either of you want coffee?” asked Belle. “You’ll probably have to help me make it, but you’re welcome.”

“I could use one,” said Neal, over his shoulder. “Let me make it. You want one?”

“I’ll have tea. Peppermint, I think. The baby’s been kicking so much today it gives me heartburn.” 

He dried his hands, and Belle pushed back her chair to go to the bathroom. When she got back the coffee maker was running, and Neal had taken Gold’s old toy rabbit from its place on the shelf beside the fridge. He had a puzzled look on his face as he turned the rabbit over and over in his hands, and Belle was reminded of Gold, and the way he had studied it.

“Where’d you get this?” he asked.

“Oh, it belongs to Alex,” she said. “It’s not for the baby, or anything. It belonged to his son.”

Neal looked up.

“He had a kid?”

“Still does, apparently,” said Belle. “They kind of lost touch.”

“How long ago?” asked Emma.

“I think he said his son was two. It was years ago. I’m - I’m not sure how much he really wants me to talk about it. If at all.”

“Oh. Okay.” Emma looked thoughtful. “But he talked to _ you _ about it. That’s good, right?”

“Yeah.” Belle took her seat. “He brought the rabbit with him when he moved in, and although I’d seen it before in his shop, I hadn’t thought anything of it. So I asked him. He was - he was probably the most open he’s been with me. I think it made him uncomfortable.”

“Well, practice makes perfect.”

“Yeah.” Belle reached for her peppermint tea. “Here’s hoping for more of that.”

“Does it make you feel better about how he’ll be with the baby?” asked Neal. “I’m not prying into the guy’s private business, but maybe if he’s had a kid and you know that he loved _ that _ kid, it might make you feel a bit easier about _ this _ one, you know?”

Belle thought for a moment.

“Yeah, he definitely loves his son,” she said. “I could see it in his eyes. It was kind of heartbreaking, to be honest. So yes, I do think he’ll love our child. I - I think he already does.”

“Have you guys talked about how you’ll divide up caring for the baby?”

“No.” Belle ran her hands over her face, huffing air through her fingers. “He went to his lawyer. Drew up a huge document that I can’t face reading through and told me to get some legal advice.”

“He’s right to say that.”

“I know.” Belle sat back in her chair with a sigh. “I just - I just can’t at the moment. Every time I think about our lives being tied up in clauses and sub-clauses and stupid legal terms, I want to cry.”

Neal and Emma shared a glance.

“Well, I guess since he’s living with you at the moment, there’s no rush,” said Emma reasonably.

“Yeah, plenty of time to lawyer up when he moves out,” added Neal.

“Yeah.”

Belle picked up her tea, feeling subdued, and there was a moment of silence.

“Maybe we can make Fridays a thing,” suggested Emma. “He said he’d be in Maine every week, so we could come over and keep you company.”

“I don’t know if he’ll stick to Fridays.”

“He said he had an appointment to keep,” said Emma. “Said it would be every Friday.”

“An appointment?” Belle frowned. “He never mentioned it. I know he has rent to collect, but I thought he was getting someone to do that for him.”

“Huh. Well, it’s only a suggestion.”

“No, it’s a good one,” said Belle. “I’ll ask him what his plans are.”

“Sounds good.” Emma took a slurp of coffee. “Okay, who’s up for a game of cards? Loser buys dessert next week.”

* * *

Gold returned when it was almost ten, looking drained and tired, although he greeted her pleasantly. Belle found herself wanting to make him tea and feed him something, and felt a little useless when he insisted on seeing to himself. He made her chamomile tea, and regular tea for himself, along with a sandwich that he made short work of in the kitchen before bringing his tea through to the lounge. She was curled in a chair, a book tented on the arm as she sipped at her drink, and he lowered himself onto the couch, perching on the edge with his elbows resting on his knees, an aura of tension hanging around him.

“How was your day?” he asked. “Did you manage everything okay? Did your friends come over?”

“Yeah, it was fine,” she said. “Your mac and cheese was a hit, by the way. Henry thought it was awesome.”

He smiled faintly.

“Good.”

“We talked about making it a regular get-together,” she added. “But I wasn’t sure if we could, what with your work thing.”

“My work thing?” said Gold, looking confused.

“Emma said you had a regular appointment in Maine,” she prompted. “So I was wondering if that was gonna be every Friday or not.”

Gold hesitated only briefly.

“I can go every Friday, if that makes it easier for you to organise things.”

“Good.” She took a sip of her drink. “In that case I’ll ask them to come over for movies and popcorn. It’ll be nice to have some company.”

“Right,” he said. “Yes.”

“Which means the rest of the week, we have each other for company,” she said, keeping her tone light. “Which we should make the most of, don’t you think?”

His eyes narrowed a little.

“In what way?”

“I - I thought maybe we could talk some more,” she said. “I thought - well, the conversation we had the other night. I thought that was - useful.”

Gold held her gaze steadily for a moment, then looked away, elbows shifting on his knees, fingers threaded together.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, it felt like - progress.”

She could sense his awkwardness, and felt the urge to reach out to him, to send him some sort of comfort, even as she battled with her own anxiety, her own hurt.

“So, we should talk,” she went on. “Clear the air. If you’re willing.”

There was a moment of silence, and his jaw tightened a little, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Alright,” he said at last. 

Belle set down her tea, letting her feet slip to the floor as she sat forward a little, instinctively moving closer to him, bridging the space between them until their knees were almost touching. She could hear the light sound of him breathing through his nose, and the faintest scent of him was in the air, making her want to close her eyes and inhale deeply.

“I meant it,” she said softly. “What I said the other night, before the accident. I meant it. I love you.”

His mouth was set in a grim line, his eyes downcast as his head shook slightly: the barest denial.

“You shouldn’t.”

Belle sighed, sitting back.

“That’s not how this works,” she said. “That’s not how _ any _of this works. You can’t just tell someone not to love you.”

He was silent, not looking at her, and she shook her head.

“I wanted to hate you, you know,” she admitted. “There were times when I feel like I wish I could hurt you like you hurt me, but I know that if I had the chance I wouldn’t do it.”

“Of course not,” he said quietly. “That’s not who you are.”

“Oh, I have my moments,” she said. “Pretty sure I’ve cursed you out a hundred times since we broke up.”

“Well, I imagine I deserved it.”

“Yeah.”

She looked at her hands, folded together in her lap, and there was a moment of silence. Glancing up, she could see that Gold’s attention was on the floor at his feet, the space between the toes of his shoes. She wondered what he was thinking.

“I was so hurt, for so long,” she said. “Devastated. And - and after that I got angry. Maybe I still am, I don’t know. I - I keep thinking irrational things, and I don’t always realise that I’m being unreasonable.”

“I don’t think you’re unreasonable,” he said, and took a deep breath. “You said you didn’t trust me. That - that stayed with me, Belle. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “Right.”

“There again, given what I did,” he went on. “I - ah - I don’t suppose I’ve given you much reason to.”

More silence, but somehow it was deafening, as though the space between them was screaming at her. She had to speak, to bridge the gap, to voice her pain.

“You know, that was the worst of it,” she said softly. “Not the things you said, so much, awful though they were. It was more that you felt you _ could _say them. Maybe I’m not making sense, I don’t know…”

He looked up then, his eyes warm, filled with what might have been pain and regret.

“Tell me,” he said. “I need to hear it.”

Belle chewed her lip, trying to organise her thoughts.

“I thought I knew you,” she said. “You didn’t give me much to work with, don’t get me wrong, but the little I got made me think that you - cared - for me. And - and that was okay, because even though you never said it, I _ felt _ it. I _ knew_.”

She paused, choosing her words. His mouth had twisted a little, pain etched in the lines around his eyes.

“I’ve always felt that I have a sense about people,” she said. “That I can see past the surface, see what’s inside. So when you did what you did, not only did I realise that I _ didn’t _ know you, but it was like I lost my sense of who _ I _was, too.”

Gold nodded slowly.

“Like you couldn’t trust your instincts,” he said. “Couldn’t trust yourself.”

“I - I guess so.”

“Yes.” He dropped his eyes again so that he wasn’t quite looking at her, but at his fingers, laced together. “And that’s why you can’t trust me, either.”

“Uh…” She shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah.”

Gold nodded.

“I understand,” he whispered.

“I want to,” she added. “I _ want _ to trust you. I hate this - all of _ this _\- between us.” She gestured with a hand, back and forth. “I want it to be better. I do.”

Gold looked up again, smiling a little.

“So do I,” he said. “I’m trying, Belle. I - I know it might not feel like it, but I am.”

He dropped his eyes again, but she sensed he still had more to say, so she remained silent. Gold opened his mouth, looking a little pained.

“It - it wasn’t work,” he said hesitantly, and Belle frowned.

“What?”

“In Storybrooke,” he said. “I said I had to go there for work. That was only partly true. I can sort out the things I need to for my business remotely, I don’t need to go there.”

Belle blinked, surprised.

“Oh,” she said.

More silence. She held her tongue, waiting for him to fill it, and Gold took a breath, his brows lifting a little in the middle, giving him an anxious, somewhat helpless expression. 

“I’m going to Storybrooke each Friday because I have a regular appointment,” he said heavily. “To see Dr Hopper. For - for therapy.”

“Therapy?” Belle felt her eyes widen. “Really?”

“Really.”

He caught her eyes very briefly with his before ducking his head again. She wanted to smile, a sense of relief flooding through her. _ Finally. Finally he asked for help. _

“How’s it going?” she asked, and he sighed, that helpless look briefly returning.

“Well, it’s early days,” he said. “It’s - it’s not easy. But there again nothing worthwhile is, so they say. I’m going to keep trying. He’s - I think he’s probably very good at his job.”

“Yeah.” _ Bless Dr Hopper. If anyone can help, he can_. “Well, I’m proud of you.”

Gold looked up sharply, a stricken expression on his face, and she smiled warmly.

“I really am,” she said sincerely. “I’m proud of you. I know how hard it must be to ask for help. It - it makes me feel like you’re really serious about making things better.”

A flicker of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

“I am,” he said. “I promise.”

He held her gaze for a moment, that tiny smile making his eyes gleam. It reminded her of happier times, and there was a lurch deep in her belly at the memories. Gold eventually glanced away.

“We should go to bed,” he said, and threw up a hand as Belle raised her eyebrows. “Oh, I - I didn’t mean _ we _ should go to bed, although - okay I _ did _mean that, but I didn’t mean together, I meant - I meant to sleep, that’s all. I meant – oh fuck it, I’ll shut up.”

He sighed, letting the hand drop, and Belle giggled a little, eyes sparkling.

“Sleep sounds good,” she said, and he smiled.

“Right,” he said. “Well.”

He pushed to his feet, grasping his cane and holding out a hand to pull her up. Belle swayed in his grip a little, smiling up at him.

“Goodnight, Alexander,” she said softly.

“Goodnight.”

She let her hand slip from his, picking up her tea and making her way towards the bedroom, feeling his eyes on her back. Slowly, very slowly, they were making progress.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ripperblackstaff prompted: 40: "I'm still not over you"
> 
> This conversation has been a long time coming, but they need to have it. Things will start to improve dramatically between them after this chapter

Belle slept better than she had since before the accident, waking only to go to the bathroom. By the time she was dressed, she could smell coffee brewing, and she wandered through to the kitchen to find Gold preparing breakfast, his silk robe open and the ends of the belt brushing against his legs as he walked from the fridge to the counter. Sunlight was shining through the windows, the radio playing a pleasant classical tune, and he smiled at her, a carton of milk in one hand. He was looking very good, and she wondered if he had slept as well as she. Perhaps opening up was giving him some peace. She hoped so.

“Morning,” he said. “You’re looking well. The bruises are starting to fade.”

“No, they’re not,” she said flatly. “I still look as though I lost a fight with a monster truck. But I did sleep well.”

“Good. Take a seat, I’ll make you some breakfast.”

“What are we having?”

Gold shrugged. “Pancakes?”

“Perfect.”

Belle took a seat at the table, reaching for the teapot and pouring herself a cup while he began making the pancake batter. She added milk to her cup and stirred, closing her eyes and listening to Gold whisk the batter. The spring sun was warm against her skin, and she stretched and yawned, enjoying the feel of it and thinking ahead to the summer months, when they would have a baby to care for and take on walks in the park. The thought made her smile.

“I - ah - I was wondering if you’d spoken to your father recently,” said Gold, and Belle frowned, opening her eyes.

“Not since he pretty much cut me off, no,” she said. “Why? Did you see him while you were in Storybrooke?”

“No.” He glanced at her over his shoulder, still whisking. “Not to speak to, anyway. I saw him outside the shop as I drove past, that’s all. It made me wonder if he knew you had been injured.”

“No.” She hunched her shoulders a little, picking up her cup. “He’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want to speak to me.”

“You think he’s still as angry as he was?”

Belle sat back in her chair with a sigh.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe not. Maybe he’s just too proud to pick up the damn phone.”

“Does he know you live here now?”

“No.” Belle sipped at her tea. “I didn’t give him the address yet. Maybe I should. The baby will be here soon, and - and maybe he’ll pull his head out of his arse and get involved in his grandchild’s life.”

“Maybe so.”

Gold carried the bowl of pancake batter to the fridge and put it inside.

“We’ll give it half an hour to rest,” he said. “Unless you’re starving.”

Belle sighed, putting down her cup.

“Weirdly enough, talking about my father just stole my appetite.”

“In which case, I’ll be sure not to mention him again,” he said lightly, and she smiled.

“No, you’re right, I do need to talk to him. I don’t want my first conversation with him to be in the delivery room.”

“Well, there’s still time,” he said diplomatically, reaching for the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup. “I can always deliver a message the next time I’m in Storybrooke.”

“I think that would go down even less well than me approaching him,” she said dryly, and Gold pulled a face.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

He took a sip of his coffee, licking his lips as he set down the cup. Beneath the silk robe he wore a smooth grey T-shirt that clung to his chest, and she could see the points of his nipples pushing against it. It made her remember how it felt to run her tongue over his skin, how he tasted, how he felt inside her. Sunlight was catching on the hair at his temples, silver strands glinting. She wanted to reach out and run her fingers through it, and caught herself, burying her face in her tea cup. _ Not the time, Belle, for crying out loud. _

“Did you have any plans for today?”

His voice made her start, and she looked up, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks as she tried to shove away her inappropriate thoughts.

“Oh, just stumbling around the apartment, having you wait on me hand and foot, maybe a little light reading...” she said, with a wry smile. “You know, the usual.”

Gold grinned.

“I thought I’d do laundry,” he said. “And later I might do some baking. So, if there’s anything specific you want, let me know.”

“You’re a pretty good roommate, you know.”

His grin widened.

“Well, it’s been a long time since I had to care for someone,” he said. “I’m actually enjoying it.”

“You’re good at it,” she said. “I think you’ll be great with the baby, when it comes.”

“I’ll certainly try my best.”

“Three a.m. feeds and cleaning up puke and poop?”

“It’ll be worth it.”

“Trips to the playground and _ Any Given Sundae _ and getting your suit covered in mud and ice cream?”

He shrugged.

“Storybrooke’s dry cleaners will appreciate the extra custom.”

“The fearsome Mr Gold, out in public doting on his child,” she teased. “Your reputation will be _ ruined_.”

“Maybe I don’t mind too much.”

He looked highly amused, his eyes sparkling, and she wanted to lean over and kiss him. It was painful to remember that they were not together, and that he was only there to help out because of her broken arm. She could feel her smile slip a little, and so she reached for her tea to hide her face. Gold sat back, picking up his coffee again.

“So,” he said. “Baking, as I promised. Any requests?”

“Can you make chocolate cake?”

He bowed his head a little.

“Consider it done.”

* * *

He did make a cake, filling the apartment with the scent of rich, dark chocolate that made Belle lift her nose and sniff the air whenever she entered the kitchen. He covered it with chocolate ganache, spread thick with a palette knife and pulled into soft, glistening peaks, and Belle licked her lips each time she passed the cake on its plate. Her appetite had well and truly returned since Gold had moved in, and she ate every scrap of the dinner he prepared (lamb cutlets with potatoes and a sauce made with red wine and rosemary). A thick slice of the chocolate cake followed, and Belle drew a finger through the ganache frosting, putting it in her mouth and letting out a low moan of appreciation. Gold grinned from across the table, a piece of cake balanced very properly on his fork.

“God, that’s _ obscenely _good,” she said thickly, and sucked off the last traces of chocolate. “Pretty sure it has to be illegal.”

“Perhaps it’s the way you’re eating it,” he suggested, and Belle chuckled.

“Well, okay, if you want me to be polite and use cutlery like a _ loser_…”

His grin widened, and he popped the cake into his mouth. He pursed his lips, nodding as he chewed.

“Okay, that is pretty good,” he said. “Not that I want to blow my own trumpet.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll blow it for you,” she said, and almost choked as she realised what she had said, a blush rising in her cheeks. Gold inclined his head.

“Well well,” he remarked, cutting off another piece of cake with the edge of the fork. “This conversation has gone straight into the gutter.”

“I blame you for making sexually-arousing cake.”

“The secret ingredient is your dirty mind, it seems to me.”

She giggled, and he speared the piece of cake with his fork, popping it into his mouth and grinning at her. He reached for his glass of wine, taking a sip, and there was silence as they ate. Belle popped the last piece into her mouth with a contented noise, and Gold put his fork down and reached for his wine.

“I had another call from my lawyer while I was on the way back from Storybrooke,” he said, and Belle glanced up, suddenly wary.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” He took a drink, watching her. “She wanted to know when we’re likely to be coming in to discuss the paperwork.”

“Oh.” Belle dropped her eyes, one finger pushing crumbs around on her plate. “Well. I don’t know. Not yet, I guess.”

“We held off on going because of your accident,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, I know.”

“But you seem well enough to at least leave the apartment now.” 

“Did you miss the part when I said I was covered in bruises.”

“Does that prevent you from leaving the apartment?” he asked.

“I suppose not,” she said cautiously. “I was thinking of going into college. I’ve decided I’m going to stop studying once I’ve finished the paper I’m working on, but I’d like to talk to Professor South when I drop it off, let her know I won’t be back until - well, until I’m back.”

“When did you want to go?”

“I don’t know - Monday?”

Gold took another sip of his wine, setting down the glass and licking his lips.

“I could take you on Monday morning, if you like,” he said. “Perhaps a walk in the park to get some air, have a little lunch…”

“That would be nice.”

“And then we can go to my lawyer’s office before your usual hospital appointment,” he added. “Did you speak to your own lawyer yet?”

Belle sat back with a sigh, her good mood evaporating.

“No.”

There was a moment of silence. Gold held her gaze with a flat stare that made her want to squirm. The fingers of his right hand curled inwards, as though he wanted to drum them irritably, but he seemed to catch himself and spread them out on the table top, poised on their tips.

“We’ve been talking about this for weeks now,” he said patiently.

“I know.”

“I can give you the names of some excellent firms, if you don’t know who to approach,” he went on. ”I realise that you broke your arm, but that shouldn’t stop you speaking to a lawyer.”

“I know.”

“You really ought to get some advice on this.”

“Alex, I _ know_!”

“I’m only saying this for your own good, Belle, and I don’t understand why you’re fighting it.”

“I’m _ not_!”

The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, and she pushed up from the table and stomped from the room, irritation making her heart thump and her skin tingle. _ Damn the man! I’m gonna have tell him, I can’t stand this! _

She could hear the scrape of chair legs in the kitchen, and she tightened her jaw, waiting for Gold to join her. He looked puzzled and wary, and she threw up a hand before he could say anything.

“I haven’t looked into getting legal advice on our bloody child support arrangements because I don’t want to think about it,” she said flatly. “There. I said it.”

“Okay.” Gold’s forehead creased. “But - you do realise we need to come to an arrangement, yes? I’m happy for your lawyer and mine to discuss the terms but I want everything agreed before the baby is born: signed, witnessed - everything. I won’t leave this up to chance, Belle, you know that.”

“I _ know_!” She began pacing. “I know that. I get it. I get that you’re terrified I’m gonna run off into the night with our baby and that you’ll never see it again, I understand. But every time I try to read through that - that _ thing _ you’ve drawn up with your lawyers I feel _ sick_!”

He was silent, still watching her with that wary look in his eyes, and it made her want to _ scream_!

“When I think about those papers and this agreement we’re supposed to come to, it’s like my whole life is laid out in front of me and it makes me want to cry, don’t you _ get _ that?”

She was rambling, sentences falling over one another, but it was as though she had opened the door to her inner turmoil, and she couldn’t have stopped if she had tried.

“All this time I’ve been in love with you, and I’ve been scared and - and angry, and pregnant and alone and telling myself you were a bastard who didn’t care about anyone or anything,” she said, the words tumbling from her mouth, “and - and then you come back into my life and you _ want _ this baby and I know you’ll love it so, so much, and all I can see is what our lives _ could _ have been like if you loved _ me_, and it _ kills _me!”

He was staring at her, and the wariness had gone from his eyes, replaced by something that she couldn’t interpret. It was almost a look of pain.

“I know you’re only here temporarily,” she said, “and that once I’m well and the baby’s born and we’re settled, then you’ll move out and you’ll go back to your life and I’ll have mine, and - and we’ll just be another couple who didn’t make it and who have to see each other because of the child they created.”

His jaw had tightened, but whether through pain or anger or something else she didn’t know.

“And so we continue,” she went on, gesturing between the two of them. “We carry on with this - this forced politeness and stepping around each other and meeting twice a week to do the handover of our child and alternating Christmases and birthdays so that every other year feels strange and empty, and ten years down the line I wake up one day and realise that I’m _ still _ not over you and I probably never will be and you don’t feel _ anything _for me and I die a little more inside, and—”

“I do.”

The words, spoken so quietly she barely heard them, cut across her rant, and Belle swallowed the rest of her sentence as she stared at him. Gold wasn’t quite looking at her, his eyes darting to hers before flicking away again, as though he was ashamed.

“What?” she snapped.

“I - I _ feel_,” he said hesitantly. “You say I don’t feel anything for you, and that’s not true, Belle. It never has been.”

“Oh, well yeah...” She flicked her hair out of her eyes. “I know you definitely felt _ something_. Let me try to remember how you let me know you were interested in me in the first place. Something about taking me to bed and fucking me hard?”

He closed his eyes.

“I - I realise that wasn’t perhaps the most—”

“And then later, when you were done with everything we had, when you wanted me gone, when you broke my bloody _ heart_, you said—”

“I know!” he said sharply, looking up again, his eyes flashing. “I know what I fucking said, alright? Those words have bloody _ haunted _me! They’ve played over and over in my head ever since.”

“Well, join the bloody club!” she snapped. “Do you have any idea how many times I cried alone thinking about that night? _ Especially _after I found out I was pregnant?”

“I’m sorry.” He seemed anguished, that almost helpless look in his eyes again. “Truly, Belle. I am so, so sorry!”

“Then why did you do it?” she demanded. “Why? If you regret it so much, if - if it’s _ haunted _you so much, why the hell did you do it?”

He was silent, his mouth working a little, as though his throat was jammed with words he couldn’t speak, and she shook her head and began pacing back and forth. _ Hadn’t meant to have this out now, but screw it! I need to talk about it. _ We _ need to talk about it. _

“So I've worked out that you had started to feel something for me," she said. "Not much, clearly. Not enough to let me down gently, but something. Was that why you pushed me away?"

Nothing. Silence. She could feel her anger growing.

"Did you even _ mean _ those terrible things you said to me?” she asked. “Did you mean _ any _of it?”

His mouth twisted a little, his eyes wide and pleading, as though he would cry, and he shook his head.

“No,” he said softly. “No, I didn’t mean any of it. None of it. I - I wanted to push you away, I admit that, but everything I said was a lie.”

His admission was like a blow to the heart, a sharp stab between her ribs, piercing her soul, and Belle put a hand to her mouth, a sob bursting from her as she turned away. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, not wanting to let them fall and open the floodgates.

“How could you do that to me?” she whimpered, her voice tiny, broken. “If you cared for me even the tiniest bit, how could you do that? Do you know how much you hurt me? The things you said…”

“I lied,” he said desperately. “I stood there and I lied to you, Belle. I thought of the worst things I could possibly say to you, and - and I said them. But none of it was true, not - not one word. I - I know you can’t forgive me, and - and God knows I don’t deserve it, but—”

“For_give _ you?”

Her grief was a lake, a river, a raging torrent, and she hated that he would see her break all over again. She turned back to face him, trying to summon her anger, and the illusion of strength that rage could give her.

“I _ loved _ you!” she said, her voice shaking. “I _ told _ you I loved you! And - and you took that and twisted it and turned it against me! You made everything I felt seem like - like _ garbage_, like _ nothing_! You went out of your way to say the most hurtful, most _ damaging _ things you could, and now you turn around and tell me it was all _ bullshit_, that everything you said to me was a _ lie_? You want me to _forgive _that?”

“I’m sorry!” His lower lip trembled, his expression desperate. “I was wrong, I know that. It was a terrible thing to do, and I’m so, so sorry!”

“But _ why_?” she pleaded. “Why did you do it? Why - destroy - everything between us?”

“Because I was afraid.”

It was barely a whisper, and for some reason it made her angrier than if he had shouted.

“You were _ afraid_?” She stared at him incredulously. “Yeah, big surprise! I bloody well called it! You were afraid of someone getting close to you! You’re _ still _afraid!”

“Yes.”

His admission, short and blunt, his voice calm, stopped her in her tracks, and for a moment she simply stared at him.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m a coward. I’ve always been afraid, Belle. I still am.”

“Of _ what_?” She glared at him. “Of _ me_? What do I do that’s so terrifying?"

He opened and closed his mouth, glancing around as though someone would come to his rescue and speak the words that seemed to elude him.

“It - it wasn’t supposed to happen!” he said eventually. “You were leaving, you were going. I was ready for you to go, I _ wanted _you to go, and - and then you told me that maybe you’d stay.”

“So?” she snapped. “Would that have been so terrible, seeing each other? _ Being _together?”

“I didn’t want that for you!”

Belle put her hands on her hips, feeling her jaw tighten.

“So you thought ripping my heart out was somehow better?”

“No!”

He growled something under his breath, beginning to pace just as she had, back and forth, his mouth working.

“I couldn’t give you what you needed,” he said. “I knew that. And - and you would have seen that in time. You would have seen what I am, and I couldn’t bear it. Better to end it before it started. Better for you to go, to live your own life, to be happy.”

“I _ was _happy!” she insisted. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“But I had nothing more to give you!” he insisted, tapping against his chest, fingers splayed against his shirt. “Inside, there’s - there’s nothing! Just a - a void! You wouldn’t be happy with that. Not long term.”

“So you thought you’d force the issue?” she returned. “You thought you’d make my choices for me, because God knows I can’t be trusted to do it for myself. Stupid little girl who doesn’t know what’s best for her, is that it?”

“I’ve never thought that—”

“But you didn’t trust me to decide for myself!”

“I just wanted—” He cut off with a frustrated exhalation, running a hand over his face. “You deserve more than I can give you, that’s all. I’m - I’m _ nothing_! I can offer you _nothing_!”

“I don’t believe you!” she blurted. “I know there’s love in you, I’ve seen it! I saw the look on your face when you felt our baby kick, and - and the pain in your eyes when you talked about your son! You tell me you don’t feel anything? You’re lying to yourself!”

“I just—” He lifted a hand, let it fall against his leg with a dull smack, a helpless expression on his face. “I can’t give you what you need.”

“So your answer is not to even bloody _ try_?”

She turned away again, furious with him. Tears were brimming in her eyes, welling up and spilling over. Anger, frustration, and grief, swirling inside her, boiling and seething. She had read something once about tears having a different structure depending on their cause, and wondered what her own would look like. As jagged and broken as she felt, perhaps.

“Belle, please…”

His voice was soft, a low, regretful whisper, and she turned back to face him, her mouth twisting.

“We could have been together!” she wept. “If you’d just opened up to me! Just _ once_! There was no need for any of this! _ Months _ of pain, of - of _ misery_! For both of us! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? How are we supposed to come back from that?”

Gold shook his head, looking stricken, his lower lip trembling. He reached out hesitantly, his hand touching hers, and she snatched it away.

“Don’t!” she snapped. “Just - just leave me alone!”

She turned her back on him, stomping away to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her. She’d wanted honesty from him. He’d answered her questions. But God, did it have to hurt so much? 

Gold let her go, wincing as she slammed the door. He waited in silence for several minutes, half-expecting her to come out and yell at him again, but she didn’t. Feeling battered and weary, he turned back to the kitchen to clean up, his body aching and leaden as he wiped down the surfaces and put the rest of the chocolate cake in a tin to keep it fresh. He felt as though he never wanted to eat again, his stomach knotted and painful. _ My own fault. All of this is my fault. I have to make it better. I have to try. _

He drank what was left of the wine in his glass, and after a moment’s hesitation poured another, taking it through to the lounge and sitting down with a sigh. _ Perhaps she’ll come out again. I need to talk to her. I need to tell her how I feel. Maybe it’ll help. Can’t make things worse than they are. _

* * *

He sat in silence for a long time, his thoughts a frantic, jumbled mess of memories, regrets and broken dreams. So many things to try to fix between them. So many broken pieces to tease back together with clumsy hands. He barely knew where to start. He had heard Belle’s door open once, and then sounds of running water in the bathroom as she readied herself for bed. When her bedroom door closed again, and he realised that she wouldn’t come back into the lounge, he pushed up out of the chair, stumbling towards his own room to change into his night things. Not that he thought he’d get any sleep.

He cleaned his teeth, trying not to look at his reflection as he did so, hating the sight of himself. Splashing cold water on his face didn’t make him feel any better, and he towelled off and slipped on a clean T-shirt over loose pants, followed by his silk robe. Perhaps if he lay in the darkness for long enough, he could think of a decent enough apology.

He was on his way back from the bathroom when he heard a sound from Belle’s room. A sniffle. A muffled sob. He paused outside her door, unsure what to do. Would she even want to see him? God, he wanted to help her, to tell her exactly how he felt, to reassure her. He wanted to prove to her that he could be a good man. Or at least a better one. Starting from zero would surely mean he could be better. _ Fuck what you want, you piece of shit, start thinking about what she wants. _

Hesitantly, he reached up and knocked quietly on her door.

“Belle?”

The sound inside cut off, and he imagined her lying in bed with the blankets pulled up over her face, glaring at the door.

“Sweetheart,” he said gently. “Please. At least let me know you’re alright.”

_ “Don’t call me that!” _

“Alright.” He waited a moment. “Can I come in?”

“Whatever.”

Her voice was wobbly, petulant, and he pushed open the door, slipping into the room. Belle was curled in bed with her knees drawn up and her arms around her curving belly, as though she was already hugging their child. It made him feel desperately sad. _ God, I’ve screwed everything up. I should go. It would be for the best. Give her some space._

"I think we should talk," he said. "You're right to be angry with me, and I don't blame you for it. Just - just tell me what I can do to make things easier on you."

Belle sat up slowly, the blankets falling around her waist as she leaned back against the pillows. She hadn't told him to get out, and so he sat down on the edge of the bed, fingers flexing on the handle of his cane

“I could leave,” he suggested. “I - I wouldn’t leave you alone, obviously, but I could arrange for someone to come and help you. A nurse, maybe. A carer. Someone who could do what I’ve been doing, only - well, only not me.”

Belle stared at him.

“You’re offering to pay for someone to come and care for me every day?” she said, in a neutral tone.

“Yes.”

“Which means you’d move out and probably head back to Storybrooke.”

“Well, I’d be back to take you to the hospital…”

“So I tell you I want you to open up, and you do, and we fight, and your solution to all this is to run away, is that right?”

Gold opened and closed his mouth.

“I - I just thought you wouldn’t want to see me, that’s all.”

“I’m tired of you assuming that you know what I want, Alexander.”

He snapped his mouth shut, and Belle sighed.

“Why couldn’t you have told me how you were feeling all those months ago?” she asked wearily. “You didn’t have to tell me you loved me, you just - you just had to let me in!”

He was shaking his head even before she had finished speaking.

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” 

“I don’t know.” He dropped his eyes, focusing on the blankets between them, where his fingers plucked awkwardly at a fold in the cloth. “Fear. Denial, maybe, I don’t know."

"Fear of what?"

Gold pulled a face, lifting a hand in a helpless expression.

"I can't explain it right now," he said. "It’s - it’s something I’ve started to talk about with Dr Hopper, but it’s not going to be something that I can flip a switch and fix.”

Belle sighed, pushing herself a little more upright and running a hand through her hair.

“I’m not expecting you to,” she said, and her voice was somewhat gentler. “I just - I just want you to be honest with me, that’s all. I want you to _ try_.”

Gold sighed heavily, nodding. _ Come on. Tell her, you fucking idiot. You owe her the world, tell her how you fucking feel. _ He looked up, and Belle was staring at him, dark curls framing her face, her lower lip trembling a little. _ God, she’s so beautiful. How did I ever get to touch her? _He licked his lips, his mouth dry.

“I love you,” he said softly. “I love you, Belle. I always have. I think - no, I _ know _ \- I know I always will. I - I realise it’s probably about a year too late, but it’s true.”

She sucked in a shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut. Two tears tracked silvery paths down her cheeks, and he wanted to kiss them away.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry that I broke your heart. I’m sorry that I tried to make your decisions for you, and cut myself out of your life.”

Letting the words fall from his mouth was almost a relief, as though a heavy, poisonous growth inside him had been lanced, loss and pain draining out of him, and he could feel his own tears rising, stinging his eyes, threatening to break him.

“I - I’m sorry that I hurt you so badly that you couldn’t tell me about the baby,” he went on. “I’m sorry you thought I didn’t care, because I care _so fucking much _it hurts, Belle. And - and it scares me, and I - I don't know what to do."

She swallowed hard, glancing away as her mouth twisted.

"I don’t think I’ve ever fucked anything up to the extent that I’ve fucked up our lives, but I can’t say it’s come as a surprise," he added. "Everything that was ever good and pure and light in my life, I’ve lost it or - or destroyed it or driven it away. It was only a matter of time before I did the same to you.”

Belle shook her head sadly.

“You say that like it was inevitable,” she said. “Like it was some - some external force that you had no control over, but it wasn’t. You _ chose _ to drive me away.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I did. I don’t know how I can make up for it, or - or if you even want me to.”

“I don’t know what I want right now,” she said. Her voice was quiet, subdued, and she shook her head. “God, I’m tired. I’m so tired. Why did you have to make it so _ hard_?”

He dropped his eyes again, cold steel claws of shame and self-loathing raking deep rents in his soul. It hurt, a tearing pain deep in his chest, and he willed himself not to cry. The unexpected warmth of a hand on his made him look up, and Belle was staring at him, her eyes wet with tears, her expression somewhat softened.

“We have a lot to talk about,” she said.

“Yes.”

“We’re not going to fix everything tonight,” she added, and he shook his head.

“No.”

“Do you _ want _ to fix things?” she asked, and Gold felt his mouth twist.

“Yes,” he whispered. “God, Belle, I want to fix everything! I - I don’t know how we can, but—”

“Neither do I,” she said. “But maybe wanting to is the first step.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and she squeezed his hand.

“It’s late,” she said. “We should sleep.”

“Alright.”

She tilted her head, her eyes gazing into his, as though she was searching for something. He wondered what it was she saw. If indeed there was anything to see.

“Will you stay?” she asked then, and he blinked.

“What?”

Belle sat back, patting the bed beside her.

“Stay with me,” she said. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He stared at her for a moment, surprised by the request, but then nodded.

“As you wish.”

Hesitantly, he moved to the other side of the bed, lying down on top of the blankets.

"Alex?"

"Yes?"

"Get in the bloody bed, you idiot."

"Oh. Right."

It felt awkward, shrugging out of his robe and draping it over the chair, and he caught the end of his cane in the trailing corner of the blanket, almost falling on his face. Belle didn’t seem to notice, curled on her side with her back to him. He leaned the cane against the corner of the nightstand where it met the wall, lifting the edge of the blankets and climbing in beside her. The bed was unfamiliar, the scent of Belle’s perfume on the pillows, and he lay on his back for a moment, reluctant to move and disturb her.

“You can put your arm around me,” she said, making him start.

He turned onto his side, eyes following the dark curls of her hair in the dim light. Shifting a little closer, he kept his arm above the blankets, wrapping it around her waist so that his hand was on the curve of her belly. A smile curved his lips at the thought of the child that would soon be in the world. He would try to make amends, to be the person that Belle and their child deserved. He would try his best to fix things. For all of them.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @mrs-stiltskin prompted: 15: "I still remember the way you tasted"

It was still dark when Belle woke, her pressing need to go to the bathroom breaking through her slumber. She was very warm, the unfamiliar but welcome feel of a body against hers, Gold’s arm snug around her waist and the sound of his even breath in her ear. It made her smile for a moment, but then she remembered their fight, and his admission, and the smile wobbled a little. He had told her he loved her, that he always had, that he had pushed her away through fear. She still couldn’t decide whether she should be happy, sad, or incandescent with rage about the whole thing. 

She opened her eyes a crack, eyes picking out the green figures on the digital clock by her bed. Five-oh-four. Too early to get up. Easing gently out of his grip, she tiptoed to the bathroom.

By the time she got back, she was a little cold, and she quickly got back into bed, wriggling into the warm hollow she had left in the blankets. Gold inhaled deeply, stretching a little in his sleep, his arm going around her instinctively. It made her smile. _ Yes. Still mad at him, but he loves me. He loves me. _

She dozed, warm and comfortable in his arms, and was awakened by the feel of something pressing against her buttock. Something long and hard and achingly familiar. Belle smiled, her eyes still closed, remembering other mornings when she had woken in his bed in just the same way, with very enjoyable results. His breathing was even, and she was almost certain he was still asleep, but the feel of him against her was making her belly tighten with desire. She remembered those other mornings, how he would wake her slowly with his touch, with soft kisses and stroking fingers, how he would gently lift her leg once she was fully awake and aroused and ease inside her. She wanted that again. It was probably a stupid idea, given that they were only now just starting to work towards a reconciliation, but it seemed that common sense had yet to wake up, leaving her libido firmly in charge. She rolled her hips, rubbing against him.

Gold inhaled sharply, a gentle snort in his nostrils, and his arm tightened around her. Belle bit her lip, moving her hips again, and he mumbled something before stretching his legs a little. She moved her hips in a slow circle, a grinding motion, and his arm stiffened before he pulled back from her, rolling away.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Sorry, Belle. Asleep. Didn’t mean to - well, you know.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “Really, I don’t mind.” _ I don’t mind. Really I don’t. Get back here. _

There was silence for a moment. She could almost hear the cogs in his head turning as he woke up, wheels clicking into place and firing up his brain.

“Were you - were you doing that on purpose?” 

He sounded bewildered, and Belle screwed up her face, bottom lip pulling up over her teeth, wishing she didn’t feel awkward about wanting the father of her child.

“Uh…” She kept her eyes squeezed shut. ”Yeah?”

More silence. _ Click click click. _ She felt the mattress dip a little as Gold moved closer again. The feel of his fingers sliding over her hip made her shiver deliciously. She could feel his eyes on the back of her head, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. _ Things were so much less awkward when he was pretending not to care, what the hell? _

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked.

He sounded both surprised and hesitant, putting her in the frustrating position of wanting to reassure him, while at the same time feeling as though she couldn’t ask for what she wanted.

“Is that wrong?” she asked instead, and was unsure whether it was meant for him or for her.

He was silent for a moment.

“It’s - unexpected.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to,” she said hurriedly. “I get it. It probably seems weird, right?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“And now I’ve made everything more awkward,” she sighed. “Sorry.”

“Belle, it’s fine, really.” His fingers tightened a little on her hip. “I just - I’m not sure if - I know we still have a lot to work through.”

“I know.” _ God, can we just pretend we don’t? Just for an hour? _

“We should probably talk some more,” he added.

“Yeah.”

Silence. She could feel tension in the air between them, an odd pressure that seemed to make her ears ring. Her heart was thumping, a heavy, urgent pulse, and she licked her lips, skin tingling. She could hear his breath, feel the warmth of his hand on her hip, and she closed her eyes, concentrating on the ache between her thighs, wishing he would touch her.

He moved his hand, fingers stroking against the fabric of her nightdress, a gentle, swirling caress over her hip. As they moved in rhythmic sweeps, his fingertips dipped a little lower, brushing along the crease at the top of her thigh, and Belle sucked in a breath, rolling back a little, allowing him to touch a little more of her. She felt the mattress dip a little more as he moved closer, and shivered at the feel of his breath on the nape of her neck. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, where the neckline of her nightdress exposed a patch of skin, and she inhaled sharply as his lips trailed up her neck to her ear.

_ “Belle,” _ he whispered, the word raising goosebumps as it tickled her skin.

His hand was still stroking her hip, but as he began to kiss her neck again it slid down her thigh, plucking at her nightdress, pulling it higher. Fingertips found the hem, tugging it up and slipping underneath to slide up her thigh to her hip. Belle bit back a moan as his lips gently pulled at her skin, the wetness of his mouth against her, and his nose nudged her ear.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he said again, and this time his voice was low and rough, vibrating through her and making her shiver.

“Yes!” she breathed.

His hand slid over her skin at an achingly slow pace as he pressed soft, wet kisses to her neck and shoulder. Belle could feel her breathing quicken, her belly tightening with need as stroking fingers swept in half-circles, each dipping lower, brushing against the top of her thigh, sliding along the crease at her groin. One finger traced along the outer edge of her nether lips, and she gasped, wanting more, wanting the finger inside her.

Gold gently sank his teeth into her neck, making her moan and push back against him. She could feel the hardness of him again, pressing insistently against her buttock, and a surge of desire went through her, an urge to have him inside her, to feel every inch of him sliding deep. His finger brushed against her again, stroking down between her legs and back up, moving in tiny circles over her skin. He was so, so close to where she needed him, and she could feel her breath growing rapid and desperate as she ached for his touch. His mouth found her ear again, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps through her with his breath and the brush of his lips.

“I still remember the way you tasted,” he whispered. “Like salt and honey on my tongue. I loved to taste you when you came.”

Belle moaned, and he drew a finger along her outer labia, gently stroking. His lips pulled at her earlobe.

“Are you wet?” he murmured. “Can I feel how wet you are?”

She nodded fiercely, and his finger moved inwards, teasing apart soft folds of flesh and releasing slick fluid. Gold growled in pleasure, the finger pushing through her flesh, spreading her juices. Belle moaned as he grazed her clit, fingertip drawing tiny circles around it before sliding down and teasing her entrance. He tugged her hard against him, sucking on her neck as his finger pushed slowly inside her, and she let out a tiny cry at the feel of it. He groaned, a deep, rumbling growl that went straight to her core, the heel of his hand grinding against her and sending jolts of sensation through her body as his finger thrust in and out.

It felt incredible to be touched, to be touched by _ him_, as though she hadn’t realised how desperately she had missed him until that moment. She pushed against his hand, her cheeks flushing as a wave of pleasure rose up through her. He kept up the pressure, grinding against her in a slow, steady rhythm, and she moaned as his finger slipped in and out of her, bliss making her lips tingle and her pulse throb high in her throat.

She came with a cry, bucking against him, squeezing her thighs together and holding his hand in place as she rode out her pleasure. Gold groaned, biting down into her shoulder, lips tugging at her skin. She moaned, rocking back and forth, sensations rippling through her body, perspiration blooming on her upper lip as her heart thumped hard. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, slowly sliding his hand out from between her legs and back up to rest on her hip, and she opened her eyes as her breathing steadied a little. Gold kissed her shoulder, patting her hip affectionately, and then rolled away from her.

“I’ll make some tea,” he said, and threw back the covers.

Belle blinked rapidly, skin still tingling with the last hints of pleasure as he left the room, and it was as though he had thrown a bucket of cold water over her, leaving her shocked and breathless. She heard him in the bathroom, water running as he washed his hands, and she sat up, running a hand over her face and feeling an odd mix of confusion and disappointment at his rapid exit. His rejection.

She slid her legs over the side of the bed, pushing to her feet and listening to him clattering around in the kitchen. Turning her gaze towards the mirror, she took in her reflection: her face bruised and still a little swollen, her arm in a cast and her belly protruding outward. Insecurity pricked at her skin. _ God, I look terrible! The total opposite of when we met. Maybe he didn’t want to touch me at all. _

She closed her eyes, trying not to let the snide voice at the back of her mind dig in its claws and destroy the self-worth she had been trying to build since their break-up. Eyes snapping open, she grabbed her robe, putting it on with some difficulty and swearing under her breath at her broken arm before marching through to the kitchen, the ends of the belt flying out behind her. Gold was making coffee, spooning it into the pot as the kettle boiled. The teapot was already on the table, with the jug of milk and some cups. He glanced over his shoulder as she entered.

“You didn’t have to get up,” he said. “I’d have brought it through.”

“Am I hideous?” she demanded, and Gold turned slowly on the balls of his feet, a puzzled look on his face.

“What?”

“Am I hideous?” she repeated, waving her free arm up and down herself. “I said I wanted you to touch me, and you said we should talk, and then - and then you touched me, and then you _ left_, and now I’m thinking that maybe you didn’t want to touch me after all, and you felt obligated to, and that makes me feel awful because I absolutely do _not _want you to feel obligated to. So am I hideous?”

He looked genuinely confused, but he put down the coffee pot, turning towards her fully. 

“You couldn’t be hideous if you tried,” he said. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I’m all bashed up,” she said, “and - and pregnant, and my arm’s broken, and I haven’t worn make-up in days or high heels in _ months_, and - and I’m pretty sure you never mentioned sweater dresses as a favourite item of clothing on me, and - and...”

Her words seemed to dry up, leaving her opening and closing her mouth like an idiot, and Gold shook his head. 

“Do you care what I think of your appearance?”

“Oh my God, are you _ blind_?” she snapped. “You think I don’t want you to _ want _me? Haven’t I been throwing myself at you enough?”

“Uh…” Gold hesitated. “I’m sensing there’s both a right and a wrong answer to this, and I’m not entirely convinced I know which is which.”

Belle slumped into one of the chairs, frustrated, listening to him pour water into the coffee pot, and he set it on the table, easing into the chair opposite.

“Belle,” he said gently. “You were always the most beautiful woman I’d ever met. Pregnancy has only made you more beautiful. A few bruises doesn’t change that.”

He looked uncertain, almost nervous, and she tried to put aside her own insecurities and explain how she was feeling.

“You left,” she said. “We were - intimate - and you left.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Gold hesitated, fingers tapping together.

“I - I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to stay,” he said eventually.

“You didn’t think asking you to get me off was enough of an invitation?”

“Not really,” he said simply. “We both know I can give you pleasure. Doesn’t mean you want me to take my own.”

Belle sighed, letting her head drop.

“Okay, that’s a fair point,” she admitted. “You’re right, I should have been more - explicit. I guess given everything we’ve been through, dropping hints really doesn’t cut it. Even hints the size of - of _ boulders_.”

Gold inclined his head, reaching out to pour her some tea.

“I think it’s safe to say that I will not be presuming anything where our personal life is concerned,” he said. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to be open about saying what we want.”

“The horror,” she said dryly, and he smirked.

“Quite.”

“Hell of a change to our relationship.”

“I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

“Hmm.” She was amused. “We’ll see about that. In the meantime, I’ll practice being more explicit.”

Gold winked, pushing the cup towards her.

“Practice makes perfect.”

“So they say,” she said, taking her cup. “I guess your self-control’s better than mine.”

He gave her a wry grin.

“Years of practice.”

“Liar.”

“I’m serious.”

She sighed again, slumping in her chair, and he poured himself some coffee.

“Well, at least we know we can have a conversation about a personal subject and have it not descend into one of us either shouting or leaving,” he remarked. “So that’s progress.”

“Yeah.”

Belle took a drink of tea, eyeing him as he sipped at his coffee.

“Speaking of having conversations about personal subjects,” she said. “I think we should keep doing that.”

Gold looked up, that wariness back in his eyes again.

“Was there a particular topic you had in mind?” he asked, his tone cautious.

“Not a particular topic, no,” she said. “There again, given that I know almost nothing about your life other than what you told me about your son, I think there’s probably a lot to go through.”

Gold sat back, hugging the coffee cup to his chest like a shield.

“I assure you there’s very little of interest in my life,” he said, and she shook her head, reaching out to put a hand on his thigh.

“But I _ am _interested,” she insisted. “If we’re going to build something worth having, we need to be open with each other, right?”

“So Dr Hopper informs me.”

Belle sat back, mouth flattening.

“And you don’t think Dr Hopper might be right?”

Gold sighed, setting down his coffee cup and running his hands through his hair.

“No, of course I do,” he said quietly. “Sorry. I’m being flippant. I know what I have to do, I just - knowing doesn’t make it easier.”

“Yeah, I know.”

There was silence for a moment. Belle took another sip of tea, watching Gold turn the coffee cup with his fingertips, the dark surface of the coffee rippling. He glanced up at her, brown eyes watchful, uncertain.

“Ask me something,” he said. “Ask me a question, and if I can answer it, I will.”

“Okay…” Belle thought for a moment, and set down her cup. “Tell me about your family.”

“Other than Bae, I don’t have any.”

“Parents?”

“Both dead,” said Gold curtly. 

He was still turning the coffee cup, the rotations faster, the ripples more agitated. Discomfort was coming off him in waves, and Belle felt a moment of guilt for pushing him, but he had encouraged her to ask questions.

“What can you tell me about them?” she asked.

He wrinkled his nose, sniffing a little, and finally set down the cup, spreading his fingers flat on the table top.

“Never knew my mother,” he said. “She died not long after I was born.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Cancer.”

“I lost my mother too,” she said. “But at least I got to have some time with her. My childhood, most of my teens... It must be hard to grow up with no mother at all.”

Gold shrugged, looking awkward.

“When it’s all you know, it’s neither hard nor easy,” he said. “It just - is.”

“I guess.” She put her head to the side. “What about your father?”

“Died about ten years ago.” His fingertips tapped restlessly on the table, as though he wanted to push himself up out of the chair and leave.

“Did he get to know Bae?”

“Not really.” Gold sat back, hands dropping to rub over his thighs. “He and Milah didn’t get along.”

“Oh.” Belle watched him shift in his seat. “What about you and him?”

Gold pulled a face, looking away.

“He never wanted children,” he said eventually. “He just wanted my mother. He loved her very much, and when she died… When she died, I don’t think he dealt with it very well. Drank a lot.”

“Yeah,” said Belle, thinking of her own father. “I know how that goes.”

More silence. She reached for her tea again, letting the tannin-rich brew spread across her tongue, a hint of bitterness in it.

“I don’t want to be like my father,” he said suddenly. “I want our child to know how much it’s wanted, how much it’s loved. I promise you.”

“I believe you,” she said. “I do.”

Gold hesitated, leaning forward with his elbows on the table and his hands clasped together, fingers threading in and out in a nervous rhythm.

“I - I don’t know what’s going to happen with us,” he said. “I don’t know what you want, whether you think we can make it work properly, or - or whether it’s too early for you to know.”

“I want to try to make it work,” she said. “I want _ us _ to try.”

He nodded his head, hunching his shoulders a little, and she reached out to put a hand over his, squeezing gently.

“You deserve so much better than me,” he said. “I don’t know what I ever did to have your love, Belle, but I’m fucking positive I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. Your kindness. I don’t deserve anything from you.”

“Stop it,” she whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Stop talking like that. You’re not a monster, Alex, you’re just - you’re hurt. You’re in pain. You’ve been in pain for decades, with no let up. You’ve had to deal with loss, and - and guilt, and not knowing whether the person you loved most in the world is dead or alive, and it changed you.”

“Did it?” He shook his head. “Maybe it didn’t. Maybe I was always this way. Maybe you think there’s something inside me worth fighting for, when in reality there’s only more - more _ nothing_.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Gold glanced away, his jaw tightening, and she let her hand drop to slide over his, clutching at his clasped hands. He looked back at her, and Belle smiled faintly.

“I get it,” she said. “I’m not saying your way of dealing with things was healthy, because it absolutely wasn’t, but I get it. At least - at least I’m trying to imagine how that might feel. The thought of losing my child, of not knowing what became of it - that’s too terrible to want to think about for even five minutes, never mind decades.”

Gold ducked his head a little more, as though he was ashamed.

“And I threatened to take our child from you,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Belle. I threatened to put you through the same agony that I’ve borne all these years.”

“It was a shitty thing to say,” she agreed. “On top of a whole heap of other shitty things. But now that I know a little more of your history, I suppose I can find a way to understand why you said it, and we can move past it.”

“You’re a good person,” he said. “Far better than I deserve.”

“I want you to try to stop saying that you don’t deserve love and compassion,” she said firmly. “You do, okay? We all do. That doesn’t mean that you don’t apologise when you screw up, or refuse to take responsibility. It doesn’t mean you can’t learn and grow and be a better person. We can both learn to be better, for our child and for each other.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Yes. I’ll try my hardest, I swear it.”

“So will I.” 

She squeezed his hands, and he glanced up again, sending her a tiny smile.

“And I need you to put your all into therapy,” she added. “I mean _ seriously _put your all into it.”

“I will,” he said. “I promise you.”

“Good.” Belle sat back, releasing his hands and picking up her tea. “Now. Let’s have some breakfast.”

* * *

After their early morning conversation, it seemed as though something had shifted between them, some of the heaviness in the atmosphere dissipating. The day was spent quietly, with Belle reading in one of the chairs and Gold cooking their meals and cleaning up. There was comfort in the gentle domesticity, and she felt herself relax a little more. She had briefly considered asking him to accompany her for a walk in the park, but angry clouds had rolled in from the east, building above the city, and she could sense that more rain was to come. At least the snows seemed to have passed.

The rain started as she was readying for bed, a distant rumble of thunder heralding the coming storm. Belle peeled off her dress and shimmied into her nightdress, wriggling awkwardly until she got her injured arm through the sleeve. Lightning flashed, and she hurried to the window to peer out, watching sheets of rain lash the city. She left the curtains open, shivering a little as she climbed into bed, and lay back with one arm behind her head, listening to the hiss of rain as she thought over the conversation that she and Gold had shared. He was trying, just as she was, but there was still a long way to go, and a lot for them to talk through. Too bad they couldn’t wave a magic wand and make everything right. 

She lay in silence for a long time, her skin prickling uncomfortably, her pulse throbbing hard. Thunder rolled, and Belle wriggled in the bed, feeling restless. There was a familiar ache between her thighs, the memory of his touch making her abdomen clench. She had wanted him to touch her again, to press up against her and slide deep inside. She still wanted him.

Cursing under her breath, she sat up and threw back the covers. It was no good. She had to go to him.


End file.
